Laws of Science
by Verdreht
Summary: A look at the progression of Charles and Erik's relationship through the movie. Starts canon doesn't end that way . Some fluff, some action, some violence, some hurt comfort...essentially, a little bit of everything in one Cherik-y package. SLASH
1. Newton's First Law of Motion

_Newton's First Law of Motion: the velocity of a body remains constant unless the body is acted upon by an external force._

Erik was unstoppable. As he carried on along the same path he had for years, ever since that bastard Schmidt stole his life from him, he never once faltered. He never once slowed his pursuit of the vengeance he yearned for within his very soul.

Because he couldn't. He couldn't slow down, and he certainly couldn't stop, because no matter how long he went, nothing seemed to change. There was always the same anger, always the same hatred. The faces changed, but the people were all the same. They were all murderers, from the very first pig farmer to the very last tailor. No matter how many he ushered out of this world, there always seemed to be more to rise in his path.

Even when he felt his goal slipping from him before his very eyes, he refused to lose his momentum. No, he clung to his path, holding firm until he could feel his very mind bending to the strain. Nothing else mattered, not the water in his ears or the burning in his lungs. This was his path – this was the direction he was meant to take, and nothing could stop him.

Or so he thought.

Just as the world began to darken around him, and the icy cold of the water started to deaden his senses, something came to him. No, not something.

Someone.

Hands reached around him from behind, pulling him back. Stopping him in a way he'd never allowed himself to be stopped before. But he would not yield to this force of change so easily. He twisted, trying to throw the intruder away. For all he knew, it was another enemy. Just another pawn to destroy.

The more he fought, though, the more the stranger held on, until Erik could feel the other flush against his back. Still, he fought against him. Schmidt was getting away! He was so close, he couldn't stop now! Who was this man to hold him back? To keep him from the path he'd followed all his life?

_You__can__'__t_…y_ou__'__ll__drown._

The words were striking, but not unpleasantly so. He hadn't heard them; he couldn't have, over the water rushing in his ears. They'd been there, though, in his head, warm and calming like coming in from a winter storm to a blanket and a fiery hearth. A mixture of shock and strange curiosity slowed Erik's struggles as the voice sounded again.

_ You have to let go. I know what this means to you, but you're going to die. Please, Erik—_

The sound of his name. The strain of his hold Schmidt's submarine. His mind was failing him, trying to follow so many different inputs. This stranger holding him, speaking to him (but not _really_ speaking to him), made it hard to concentrate. There was just something about him.

-_calm__your__mind._

Erik felt himself being pulled away. Schmidt was going one way, and for once, he wasn't following. Somehow, his momentum had been slowed; his path had been stopped. It was too late, though; Schmidt was gone, and he was out of air.

Using his long legs for all they were worth, he kicked to the surface. The stranger was doing the same, though his heavy clothes were clearly not made for swimming, especially in such torrid waters. He'd been strong enough a swimmer to get the upper hand on Erik, though, and as far as he was concerned, that made this newcomer just as much a threat as anyone else he'd met (and most of the time, subsequently dispatched).

"Get off me!" he shouted as they broke the surface of the water. A harsh shove sent him splashing back under the water for a moment.

"Calm down!" the stranger insisted. "Just breathe." Even though his voice had to be loud to project over the noise of the water, it somehow still sounded so serene. So reserved. Flicking his head back, the meddlesome stranger – a fair-faced man, probably a handful of years younger than himself with a decidedly proper English accent, though the dark and the rush of everything kept him from discerning any other details – raised his voice higher. "We're here!"

Which meant he had friends.

"Who are you?" Erik demanded, doing his best to keep some difference between himself and the Englishman. He was so tired, his limbs felt like lead. Only, if they had been lead, things would have been considerably easier. As it were, he was out of breath, fighting to keep his head above water while the stranger seemed to somehow stay gracefully afloat.

A quick wave rushed across the stranger's face as he replied, "I'm Charles Xavier." And for the first time, Erik could place the voice. It was the same one he had heard when he was under the water. There was that same reservation, that same innate calm that seemed to try to project itself onto the listener.

Erik felt his chest give a lurch. "Are you in my head?" he shouted. "How'd you do that?"

Charles shook his head quickly, flicking his dark wet hair back away from his pale face. For the first time, Erik was able to get a good view of his visage, and he found himself looking even harder for it. Even in the dark of the night, the blue of Charles's eyes seemed almost inhuman, and his face had a graceful set to match.

"You have your tricks, I have mine," Charles told him. "I'm like you. Just _calm_ your mind!"

The words took a moment to sink in, as Erik panted for the breath the cool water seemed intent on forcing from his lungs. When he spoke, it was far more subdued. "I thought I was alone," he said. He always had been.

Something odd happened, then. Charles, instead of scoffing at him, or even ignoring the question, smiled a brilliant sort of smile and said, "You're not alone." His voice was such that it was hard to take it as anything but the truth; it was too sincere, too earnest to be anything but. He was almost ethereal in his influence; almost godly in his empathy "Erik, you're not alone."

And even though this man was a complete stranger, somehow Erik believed him.

Together, and not without some difficulty, the two men made it onto the life raft that a nearby ship had dropped in the water. It was the same ship Charles had been shouting to, and Erik thought it was safe to believe they were Charles's people. Not that he particularly cared. He was just pleased to get out of the water and to finally be able to breathe again.

A minute out of the water quickly dispelled Erik's thoughts of godliness for Charles. It wasn't that his powers were any less impressive, but it was rather hard to take someone seriously when they were shivering like a Floridian in a New York winter. Erik felt the strange inclination to offer him something, but as he had nothing more than a wetsuit, he could hardly be the gentleman. Besides, he wasn't sure Charles would appreciate the gesture.

A voice – spoken, this time – cut through his reverie. "I meant it, you know," Charles said. Now that he no longer had to raise his voice to be heard over the waves, his voice took on a much softer, smoother timbre. It was no less powerful for it; perhaps it was even more so now, somehow. "You are not alone. My friend, I don't subscribe to coincidence."

Erik raised his eyebrow, though even he wasn't sure at what part. It was strange for this stranger to refer to him as "my friend" – Erik had fewer friends in people he had known far longer, but then, most of them he was trying to kill, so perhaps Charles did have an advantage as of now – but the segue had also been peculiar.

Charles seemed to interpret his curious expression as regarding to the last bit, though, and explained, "I believe there is a reason you are here tonight."

Erik opened his mouth to fire of a snappy retort – of course there was a reason he was there; he didn't typically dress in a wet suit and chase submarines for sport, thanking you highly – but he was silenced by a thin, elegant hand. Somehow, even as the rest of him trembled from the cold, that hand and the set of his impossibly blue eyes never so much as faltered. Erik normally would've been angered by such a gesture, but there was nothing pompous or controlling in it: it wasn't a command, as it were, merely a request.

He decided, just this once, to allow it. He subsided, and gestured for Charles to continue his address.

"Beyond Shaw, I meant to say," he amended. Erik was bright enough to fill in that Shaw was another of Schmidt's never-ending army of aliases. "There is something important rising on the horizon, my friend. I cannot explain in full now, but I am not conceited enough to think it can be averted by only the hands we have now."

"You want my help," Erik finished for him. "With what?"

"Shaw." The one-word answer seemed particularly abrupt coming from the scholarly young gentlemen in front of him. He seemed to have a flare for language, though Erik would allow that each word did have a certain purpose to it that was uncommon in most of the verbose professorial population.

"If you wanted him stopped, you should've let me continue," Erik said. He'd been so close, he could've—

"It isn't worth your life, my friend," Charles said, and there was such earnest in his voice that Erik couldn't help feeling a pull in his chest. Charles said it as though he really _were_ a friend, as if he were someone that would be personally aggrieved should Erik die. It wasn't simply compassion…it was something else. Something striking.

Something Erik had never seen before.

It intrigued him. Charles intrigued him, in point of fact. He seemed like his polar opposite: gentle, idealistic, and reserved as compared to Erik's harsh, cynical ardor. Idealists weren't a breed Erik tended to take a liking to, but there certainly was something different to Charles. It wasn't that he saw something impossible, but more that he seemed to see something else that no one else could. It was like he could look at Erik and instantly know him perhaps even better than Erik knew himself. To be honest, it was a disconcerting feeling, but at the same time…it was nice.

"Please, Erik…I've no doubt in your abilities, but you cannot take Shaw on your own. Let me help you."

That got a sort of ironic quirk on Erik's lips, and he cocked his head to the side a little. "Don't you mean let _me_ help _you_?" There were equal parts challenge and jest in the comment, and Erik was curious to see how Charles would respond. The true test of a man, after all, was not how well he could deliver his speeches, but how well he could stand the criticism of them afterwards.

And to his surprise, a smile appeared on Charles's face. It wasn't a wide smile, but the slight dimples and the sparkles in his eye shone infinitely brighter than any other smile Erik had ever seen. It was almost intoxicating to look at – intoxicating and oddly contagious such that Erik couldn't help the growth of his own smirk in response.

"I believe we can help each other, my friend," he said. "But first…I think we could both use some help getting this bloody dingy back to shore."


	2. Law of Magnetism

_Law__of__Magnetism:__opposites__attract_.

Normally, Erik had no qualms being flush against a pretty woman. When that woman was hardly out of her teens, however, with an incessantly running mouth and a childish attachment to a one Charles Xavier, the lady in question did gain a certain degree of annoyance.

Cars were not meant to hold five people – it was a philosophy Erik had held since the very first time he rode in one. It didn't matter if it had five seats; three people were simply not meant to fit in the back. Children, perhaps, he would concede to, but not three fully grown adults.

In all honesty, Erik wasn't sure he would've minded the closeness so much, if the seating had been arranged differently. Had Charles been the one to sit in the middle, he probably might have even enjoyed the ride. The younger man always was apt for interesting discussions, and if nothing else, it would be nice to have a buffer between himself and the chatty Miss Raven. He wasn't fool enough not to notice the looks she kept sending him, but he wasn't one to indulge teenage affections.

But alas, on the insistence that she was smaller, she had been the one to squeeze herself into the cursed middle seat. Erik wasn't actually sure he agreed with the point, either. In looking at the two of them, Charles wasn't much taller than Raven, if he was even taller than her at all, and his hips were certainly no wider than hers. Why the reedy young professor couldn't have been the one to ride in the middle, Erik wasn't quite sure.

Mercifully, it didn't much matter. They were coming to a stop, right outside a very official-looking compound. Erik didn't even wait for it to come to a full stop before he pushed the door open, unfolding his long, cramped legs from where they'd been sitting under his suitcase the whole drive.

"Welcome to my facility," said the portly suit whose name Erik had yet to catch. He didn't particularly care, honestly; one suit was just the same as the next.

Unless of course they were Charles's beloved tweed.

Speaking of the charming young professor, he seemed to have pulled quite a bit ahead in the walk Moira had done the same, leaving him behind with Raven.

Thank goodness for long legs; they allowed him to close the distance between himself and the subject of his ever-growing curiosity without looking to be doing it.

"My mission has been to investigate people with paranormal powers for military defense," Suit was saying, but Erik could hardly be bothered to listen. He wasn't there for this man; he didn't care what he had to say. Still, he couldn't resist such an open invitation for commentary.

"Or offense," he said, glancing over at Charles as he caught up to him. Charles, to his satisfaction, turned his blue eyes towards Erik at the comment, flashing him that look that was somehow simultaneously fond and exasperated at the same time.

Erik was growing to like that expression quite a lot, actually.

Charles wasn't the only one that had turned to him, though, and whereas Charles's expression had been to Erik's liking, Suit's was rather distasteful. Indignation wasn't a color this man wore very well. "This guy Shaw…Schmidt…whatever you want to call him, he's with the Russians. We might need your help in stopping them."

Erik had a retort lined up to fire off, but Charles beat him to the punch. "Are we to be the CIA's new mutant division?" he asked. Erik wished the question had been longer; Charles's smooth English was far less irksome than the Suit's clipped American.

There was a moment's hesitation, and Erik saw Charles look over at the CIA agent out of the corner of his eye. "Something like that," said the suit.

While Charles seemed just the smallest bit annoyed at the cryptic response – he didn't show it outwardly, but Erik was exceptionally good at reading people, and the infinitesimal clench of his jaw was just as telling as reading his mind would've been – Erik applauded his brevity.

After that, no one spoke for a good long while save for Suit's long-winded tour of the facility. Frankly, Erik had infiltrated (and destroyed) more impressive, but he had to hand it to them: it certainly was bigger on the inside.

Eventually, their tour led them to a hangar-looking place that also seemed to serve as a lab of some sort. It was there they met Hank McCoy, whom Erik couldn't have cared less about. Charles shot him a mildly disapproving look when he folded his arms and propped back against the rail, but he really couldn't be bothered to pretend to care.

Charles, on the other hand, was wholeheartedly enthusiastic, and when Suit when to introduce him, the young professor strode forward with a bright smile on his face. As he had discovered in their several hours together, Erik couldn't help finding Charles's enthusiasm for things a little endearing. It was such a contrast to his own indifference.

"How wonderful," Charles said as he shook the gawky youth's hand. "Another mutant, already here." He turned around to Suit. "Why didn't you say?" he asked.

There was silence, and Erik could already tell how this was going to play out. He would've winced in sympathy, had he not been too amused by Charles's foot-in-mouth moment.

"Say what?" Suit asked.

To be fair, Erik did feel a little niggling sense of commiseration for the poor psychic as it donned on him that he'd made a mistake.

Charles's eyebrows knotted. "You don't know," he said softly. Turning to Hank, he didn't even seem to breathe. "I am so, _so_ terribly sorry."

The way Charles turned away when Suit walked up almost made Erik want to pull the man back by his belt buckle and tie clip. Empathy was a new sensation for him, and seeing Charles so miserable was actually starting to make him a little miserable.

But Charles was quick to recover, and as the four talked – Erik had no intention of joining in introductions – he resumed his composure, once again taking the role of comforter. He coaxed Hank into showing his mutation, and once again, his odd appreciation for everything in the world made itself known.

"Splendid," he said, smiling like a child in a toy shop.

Indeed, Erik had to admit to some degree of interest, mostly after Hank flipped and used his odd feet to grab hold of the wing of a model plane. Interest morphed to annoyance, though, as Raven approached the younger man. It seemed she had found another soul to slather with her affections. He didn't begrudge her for it – teenage hormones and all that – but it was still a little annoying. And confusing. How someone as composed and reserved as Charles could spend so much time in the company of one like Raven was odd to him. Charles was outgoing in his own right, but the two of them were just so different. Erik almost got the impression that Raven had been sheltered by Charles – that maybe Charles had born something she hadn't had to that had forced him to mature so early in his young life.

Mercifully, the saccharine exchange didn't last long. With the tour officially finished, they were shown to their quarters and released to do as they wished. Being that Erik didn't have the friends or the crushes or the general directive that any of the other people there had, he was left to his own devices. Not that he particuarly minded; no, he rather liked it that way. It gave him leeway to do as he wanted to do without any pesky interruptions.

And oh, did he have things to do. It wasn't every day that Erik got access to a top secret CIA facility - not for lack of ability, but really it would've been too much of a pain to be worth it - and with it, the files that they had on everyone. However, as interested as he was in American politics, there was only one name that interested him.

After passing through the lab and making a couple quick remarks to the flirting little lovebirds, Erik made his way to the file room. It hadn't been all that hard to figure out where it was; the tour had actually proven useful for something, as it turned out. The lock gave him no trouble at all, yielding easily to just the simplest exertion of his will, and Erik quickly ducked inside the file room without a moment's hesitation. So far as he knew, nobody had seen him.

He felt smug. The cat that ate the canary, the wolf in sheep's clothing...all he had to do was get what he came for, and then he could wash his hands of the happily little family he'd found himself thrown into.

Still, as he tucked Shaw's thick file away into his briefcase and made for the door, he thought it was a shame. Amongst all the idiots and children, there was potential; there was Charles. Such power the younger man possessed, and such a sharp wit...Erik wondered if perhaps he might even miss him. He doubted it, though. Relationships didn't tend to last long in Erik's experience; he hardly expected this to be any different.

Night had fallen on the compound by the time he made his great escape. There were no guards by the doors, and no alarms sounded as he made his way out into the brisk night air. For a moment, he thought he would simply walk out.

"From what I know about you, I'm surprised you managed to stay this long."

The voice made him stop in his tracks, and he turned around to find Charles standing just in front of the doorway, watching him with those same impossibly blue eyes. There was no malice on his face, no indignation at Erik's attempt to leave; if anything, he looked a little amused, like he had accepted this was going to happen, and was simply laughing it off.

Erik frowned, turning just enough to glower at Charles from the corner of his eyes. "What do you know about me?" he half-snarled. Charles's mind tricks might have caught Erik off guard before, and they certainly might have impressed those clowns in the CIA, but Erik was not so easily astonished. He had dealt with psychics before, and he told himself that Charles couldn't possibly understand the real depths of his character. His mind was one thing - Erik's motivations were significantly deeper than thought.

But Charles wasn't so easily deterred. "Everything," he said.

"Then you know to stay out of my head." Turning, he started once again to walk away. He had to get out of there. There was something about Charles...something about facing him, about hearing the odd mix of reason and emotion in his words...they had more of an effect on Erik than he was willing to admit.

Behind him, he heard the soft sounds of Charles's dress shoes on the concrete. "I'm sorry, Erik, but I've seen what Shaw did to you." There was the barest hint of a waver in Charles's voice, the barest hint of restrained anguish that bled through. But it couldn't...it couldn't have been for Erik. He was sure of it - no one cared that much for a relative stranger.

He had stopped, though, and Charles pushed on. "I _felt_ your agony," he said. Erik found himself hoping that wasn't altogether true. For some reason, the thought of this peculiar young Englishman suffering even a part of what he had been through was gut-churning. "I can help you..."

For a long moment, Erik didn't move. The words sank in, filled with their gentle pleading and empathy - not sympathy, for that would've frustrated Erik to no end - and Erik could only let out a small, disbelieving scoff as he turned to see Charles standing just a little closer than he had been when last he turned around.

"I don't need your help," he said firmly. And he didn't. He'd lived this long on his own, and he'd managed just fine.

"Don't kid yourself," Charles retorted, sharp despite the unfailing levelness of his tone. "You needed my help last night. It's not just me you're walking away from."

Funny - Charles was the only one Erik seemed to _mind_ walking away from.

"Here, you have the chance to be a part of something much bigger than yourself." As Charles spoke, his eyes bored into Erik's. "I won't stop you leaving," he said. "I could, but I won't." And with that, Charles seemed to deign his message sufficiently delivered. With one last pointed gaze, he turned and started back for the compound, his hands tucked in his pockets and his air that of all the austere ease that seemed to accompany his every being. Charles was so very different from him - his opposite in nearly every way.

"Shaw's got friends," Charles called over his shoulder as he left. "You could do with some."

He meant to leave as soon as Charles got through the door - really, he did. For some reason, though, his feet simply refused to move. He was rooted to the spot, staring after where Charles had just disappeared through the glass. There was just something about him...something captivating and comforting. Something so utterly unreachable, and yet so ready to be reached.

He didn't care about the others. He didn't care about Raven or Hank or the CIA or even bloody Russia for that matter. Charles, though...he couldn't _stop_ caring about him. He could leave the others in a heartbeat, but just the thought of never seeing those blue eyes again tore at something in Erik that he hadn't felt torn at in a long time.

Charles was so very different, nearly his opposite. In that moment, though staring as he was after the younger man, it became suddenly all too clear to Erik: opposites attract, and there was no denying it now. Erik was attracted to Charles in a way he couldn't put to words - could scarcely put to thoughts.

He wanted Charles, and never let it be said that Erik walked away from the things he wanted. It was settled, then; he would stay. But not for heroism, not for valor, and, strangely, not even for Schmidt. He was staying for himself.

And he was staying for Charles.


	3. Avogadro's Law

_Avogadro's Law: given samples of an ideal gas, at the same temperature, pressure and volume, contain the same number of molecules._

The plan was relatively simple, though Erik had admittedly spent the better part of the night thinking of it. Simple as it was, after all, it had to be perfect; it had to be flawless, or else his charming little psychic would see right through his endeavors. For all he knew, Charles would see through them anyway, but at least he might see Erik had made an effort and give that consideration.

He hadn't seen Charles since last night, and as he made his way into the room where Charles was meeting with Suit, he had to wonder what Charles would think. Perhaps Charles would already know that Erik had decided to stay - it wouldn't have surprised him.

Then again, Charles's mind seemed to be elsewhere. If the conversation he could hear through the door of the meeting room was any indication, Charles had a great deal to think of. There was some sort of machine that they would use to augment Charles's own powers.

As the Suit explained the purpose of the machine - to help locate more mutants for this little band of misfits they were assembling - Erik thought that might be a good time to intervene.

"What if they don't want to be found by you?" he asked, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. The comment was directed at Suit, but Erik found his eyes immediately fell on the other man in the room.

Charles was sitting in the chair with one leg folded (rather effeminately, he might add) over the other. His face seemed to light up when he turned to Erik, and Erik felt his own nerves give a jolt under the weight of those eyes.

"Erik," he said. "You decided to stay."

He sounded genuinely surprised. Erik wasn't sure whether he was pleased at having caught the brilliant young man off guard, or irked that Charles actually thought he would leave. Then again, he hadn't done much to convince him he wouldn't.

Saying that would've only made him sound petty, and, fates forbid, concerned. Instead, he opted to direct his reply towards the suit. "If a new species is being discovered, it should be by their own kind. Charles and I find the mutants. No suits." And no one else, for that matter. Just Charles and him. It was part of his plan - helping mutants while simultaneously keeping Charles to himself for a fair bit of time. He needed to spend time with him, needed to see what it was that drove him so far outside his comfortably familiar pit of rage and pain. This man had brought more genuine smiles from his lips in the past two days than anyone seemed to have managed in his lifetime, and he had to find out why.

"First of all, that's my machine out there," argued Suit. "Second of all, much more importantly, this is Charles's decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved."

Erik flicked his eyes over to Charles, and saw the psychic staring at him with a fiercely contemplative look on his face. It was like he was trying to see through Erik, trying to ascertain everything about the situation before he made his decision. Erik could feel his pulse rising in anticipation.

He could've died from relief when Charles turned to Suit with a very abrupt, "No. I'm sorry, but...I'm with Erik."

The way he said it brought another smile to Erik's face. Nothing outstanding, but Charles would certainly know he was pleased. Erik wanted him to know he had made the right decision in choosing him, just as Erik knew he'd made the right decision in choosing Charles. "We'll find them alone."

The suit wasn't quite so willing to surrender his control, though. "What if I say no?" he asked.

Charles raised both his elegant brows in a look that Erik imagined was probably the closest he ever came to outright challenge. "Then good luck using your installation without me."

Erik could have kissed him right then and there.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be - probably for the better, he would admit - because not a moment later, they were off. They'd only just made it out into the hallway when they were joined by Miss Raven herself, who proceeded walk with them all the way out to the satellite in the courtyard. Charles, of course, was the first to start ascending the ladder into the strange-looking pod.

In a fit of juvenile perversion, Erik vied to follow directly after. Staircases were an excellent opportunity to stare unapologetically at someone's ass, after all, and Erik was nothing if not opportunistic.

Once again, though, he was c-blocked in a most unfortunate and outright fashion. At the very last second, Raven managed to slip in behind her surrogate brother. Had she been about five years older and ten times less meddlesome, Erik probably wouldn't have minded the replacement, but it wasn't _Raven_ he was interested in seeing, and things really seemed to conspire against his efforts.

His bitterness was washed away instantly, as Hank began explaining what this _Cerebro_ did. It wasn't that he was particularly riveted by Hank's technobabble, but rather he was captivated by the young professor. The man was like a child in a candy store, hoisting himself up onto the center platform and staring in wonder and curiosity at the massive tangle of electrodes suspended from the ceiling. The light in his eyes was back, and no amount of mind-numbing science talk or cock-blocking metamorphs could ruin its effect.

Charles steeled his face, but Erik could still see the excitement in the set of his shoulders and the quickness of his movements as Charles ducked under the helmet and pulled it down over his head. Hank and Raven were by the controls, and Erik took the opportunity to walk around to stand in front of Charles.

"What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles," he commented. In truth, he wasn't fond of that contraption - any sort of experimentation, in his experience, had its consequences. Besides, the thing was a bloody mess.

Charles's face remained steady. "Don't spoil this for me, Erik," he said.

Erik stopped in his pacing directly in front of Charles, gracing him with a small, teasing smile as he pointed at his own chest. "I've been a lab rat," he said. "I know one when I see one."

"Okay, great," Hank said, swooping in from out of nowhere to adjust the contraption on Charles's head. "Are you sure we can't shave your head?"

Erik was just about to answer that on his own - he'd grown quite fond of Charles's wavy locks, thank you very much, and they were not to be meddled with.

Luckily, Charles was of the same sentiment, and in fact beat him to the punch. "Don't touch my hair," he said. Never once did he break his gaze away from the space directly in front of him, and suddenly, Erik picked up on a different emotion. The excitement was still there, but there was something else...anxiety. Charles was nervous.

Erik leaned forward, bracing his hands against the bars. If anything went wrong, he would put a stop to it; he wanted Charles to know that. Whether the message was conveyed or not, the gesture did get Charles to break his staring match with the bubble, and instead those orbs came to fix themselves directly on Erik before sliding closed.

He could hear the machine winding up, now. Slowly, the lights dimmed, and then-

Charles's lips parted around a cry of surprise and the psychic's hands shot out to grab hold of the railing. There was a little pain in the sound, Erik thought, but mostly it just seemed like he'd been caught off guard. His eyes were wide now, though it seemed to Erik they weren't really seeing what was in front of him, and his shoulders heaved in deep, rapid breaths.

He felt his own concern growing. The expression on Charles's face was not a pleasant one, and he was worried that this was putting too much of a strain on the zealous younger man. It seemed to peak as his breath caught, but then, just as Erik was about to tell Hank to shut it off, some of the pain gave way to a breathless chuckle.

"It's working!" Hank exclaimed, but he needn't have said anything. Erik could see it in the excitement on Charles's face that he was successful. The smaller man's mouth pulled up into a grin as he let out another rasped laugh.

Behind Charles, a typewriter clacked out line after line of digits. They all went so fast, and if they were any measure of how quickly things were moving in Charles's head, he could scarcely imagine how Charles could be grinning so brightly.

It went on for nearly five minutes before Erik saw it - the first bead of sweat. It started at Charles's brow and traced a path down his pale, narrow cheeks. It was soon joined by others, and the excitement on Charles's face, though still there, had seemed to tighten into something else. His grip on the rails in front of him was white-knuckle, and the muscles of his jaw stood out rigidly as his teeth clenched.

"That's enough," he said promptly in a voice that left no room for argument, especially not from the complacent little science boy. "Turn it off."

"No!" Charles said quickly, catching Erik by surprise. "It's fine. I'm fine, Erik. I can keep going."

But Erik didn't believe that. Even just diverting enough attention away from his task to speak seemed to have left Charles even more breathless than before, and veins were starting to stand out on the side of his head and neck.

"You've got enough numbers for today, Charles; let it be." He noticed, then, that the machines were still going, and he turned to Hank. "I said shut them off. That's your last warning, boy, before I fold this whole damn contraption into a pretzel."

That earned him a glare from Charles, but Hank, fearing for the safety of his brain child, was quick to do as Erik said. The moment the power went down from the machine, he could see Charles's condition instantly improve. He was still white as a ghost and shaking like a leaf, but the tension in his posture had receded.

Even though he had been so adamant in insisting he was fine, Charles was noticeably quick to push the helmet up off his head and duck out from under it. As soon as he went to step down off the platform, though, his legs seemed to give out from beneath him, and he crumpled.

Erik was there, though; he caught him, one hand on his friend's chest to hold him up and the other on his back to steady him. He couldn't help the concern now, as it gnawed at his insides. He'd known this was a bad idea; he should've listened to his instincts.

_I'm__all__right,__Erik_.

There was that not-really-a-voice again, echoing inside his head like a stray thoughts. It seemed fainter than the last time he had felt it, though; last time, it had been so acute. Now it seemed duller, like the edges had all been smudged and feathered.

"You're a stubborn fool is what you are, Charles," Erik told him firmly. Charles had started to straighten, but Erik kept his hands in place, should Charles's limbs decide to rebel again. Carefully, with a nod to Hank, he started to escort him out of Cerebro. it was a real show of just how spent Charles was that he didn't even try to resist. "That pride will be the end of you one day."

Charles let out a soft chuckle. "For some reason, a kettle and a particularly black pot come to mind," he said, glancing over at Erik out of the corner of his eye.

Erik allowed himself a small smile, adjusting his hold around his friend's waist. Charles had put an arm over his shoulder, and they'd found a comfortable sort of rhythm, walking across the courtyard back to the facility. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Charles."

"I'm sure you don't, my friend. I'm sure you don't."

They continued on in companionable silence after that, up until they reached the entrance of the building. There was a sort of porch set up outside, with benches, and Charles slowed in their rhythm. Erik noticed him looking at the bench, and frowned.

"Would you like to sit?" he asked.

Charles smiled, but it was a strained sort of smile. It was more apologetic than anything. "If you wouldn't mind," he replied.

"Of course." The truth of the matter was that Erik did mind, but it wasn't on Charles's part that he minded. He would've carried the younger man into the facility if he'd thought it would help; Charles was no inconvenience, regardless. No, his frustrations were directed at the CIA and that Suit fellow. He'd known Cerebro was bad news from the moment he'd heard word of it, and this was proof. They were using Charles, abusing him, and Charles was going along with it because he was too busy trying to save the world to realize his own limits.

"Something's troubling you," Charles observed as they sat, Charles on the bench and Erik on the half-wall in front of it.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised the mind-reader had to ask."

"I don't have to," Charles corrected. "But I choose to. You asked me to stay out of your head, and I am doing my conscious best to respect that - though, as you saw with Cerebro, sometimes it is out of my control. My apologies for that, by the way."

"Don't apologize," Erik said.

Charles nodded. "Of course. Apologies are overrated, yes?"

"Yes, they are, but that's beside the point. You have no reason to apologize regardless."

A look flashed across Charles's face - confusion, perhaps - but it was quickly replaced by that same serene acceptance that he wore like a mask. "I appreciate your saying that, but-."

"But nothing," Erik interrupted, pushing off the wall to stand directly in front of Charles. Charles had to look up to see his face, but at least he knew he had his attention. "I wouldn't ask you to apologize for your abilities, just as I wouldn't apologize for my own." He knelt down on one knee in front of Charles, gently touching the tips of his fingers to Charles's temples. "What you have in here...it is nothing to hide. Nothing to apologize for. As long as you respect my privacy, I'll not ask of you any more restraint."

For the longest moment, Charles just stared at him, a mixture of shock and bewilderment in his expression. But then, he smiled - a genuine, full-dimpled, eyes-sparkling smile that lit up his whole face - and reached up to take one of Erik's hands in his own.

_Thank__you_.

Those two words were enough to set Erik's heart alight. It seemed as though, given the right situation, the right pressure, and the right amount of _heat_, he and Charles had more likeness between them than he ever could have imagined.


	4. First Law of Thermodynamics

_First Law of Thermodynamics: the change in energy in a system is accounted for entirely by the heat absorbed by the system and the work done by the system._

At times along the next couple of weeks, Erik had found himself wondering what the hell he had been thinking signing up for this little adventure. Cross-country trips in cramped cars, after all, were not going to put him any closer to finding Schmidt.

Of course, it tended to happen that the moment such a thought crossed his mind, he would find something that reminded him instantly of the reason he'd come out here.

Ten hour car rides, for instance: just when Erik was about to call it quits and throw himself from the cab, Charles would slump over in his sleep, his head falling to rest on Erik's shoulder and its owner none the wiser. Charles was always such a peaceful sleeper; all the composure and elegance of the day gave way to a youth and beauty that never failed to captivate Erik to the point of speechlessness. In the face of such an adorable sight, the prospect of hurling himself from a vehicle always did tend to seem less welcome. Erik would then content himself to spend the rest of the car ride, or, at least, however long Charles continued to sleep, listening to the soft sounds of Charles's breathing and just relishing the feel of being so close to him.

They weren't all so cute, though, the moments that reminded him of why he stayed. The third night of their little voyage, for example; he could remember it in crystal clarity, even now.

They'd been travelling for hours, and Erik had never been more pleased to see a hotel room in his entire life. He had, of course, been in better ones - the average-sized room with dual full-sized beds was nothing to write home about - but this had a merit to it that none of those glorious European suites had ever had.

This room, he would be sharing with Charles.

The first night, he'd been apprehensive about the idea of sharing a room with the young professor. He wasn't exactly the heaviest of sleepers, nor the most peaceful, and though he was quite fond of his little scholar friend, he wasn't sure he trusted him enough to sleep around him.

His concerns had faded though. After a long night of chatting over a game of chess and sharing a glass of wine and room service Erik had been happy to charge to the CIA, both he and Charles retired to their respective beds. In all honesty, Erik didn't think he'd ever slept better in his life. Charles, on the other hand, had looked slightly less well-rested. When Erik asked, he insisted there was a reason wine was not to be drunk that close before bed time, and though he doubted it, Erik wasn't inclined to budge.

The second night had been spent in a car, so Erik hardly counted it.

The third night, though...It started much like the first, walking into the hotel. Immediately, he was hit with the crisp cool air of the room, filled with that same industrial air freshener that seemed to come standard with any hotel. It was nearly identical to the first room, with two beds, a desk, a bathroom, and a television. Altogether, not the most impressive set up, but not the worst, either. Besides, Erik didn't care. They would only be there for the night, and as late as it was, Erik doubted they would do much before they went to sleep. Especially Charles - the young man had been exhausted today as well, and had spend nearly half the last leg of their journey to Las Vegas employing Erik's shoulder as a pillow. He hadn't even stirred when Erik had moved, shifting so that his own back rested in the corner of the door and the seat, and Charles's head rested instead in the crook of his shoulder and his neck. It was much more comfortable for him, allowing him to stretch his legs out across the seat, and it kept Charles's head from pitching to and fro with every turn of the car.

The blush on Charles's face when he had woken had merely been a fringe benefit.

As it turned out, he was right. After a small bite to eat in the hotel restaurant and a shower, Charles informed him that he would be turning in, and urged Erik to follow suit. The mutant they were looking for was apparently a dancer in Vegas, and Charles believed that if they got up early enough, they could make it there in time for the beginning of her (and Charles had cleared his throat at this point in his explanation) _shift._

Erik had had no trouble falling asleep that night, just as the last two. However, tonight's sleep wasn't quite as uninterrupted as the last two nights had been. Erik was no stranger to nightmares, but that nights had been particularly violent.

_His__mother's__face.__The__fear__in__her__eyes__as__she__whimpered__assurances__through__cracked__lips.__She__was__so__scared,__and__there__was__nothing__he__could__do.__This__was__all__his__fault.__If__only__he__could-_

_ An explosion. Pain. Stop the bullet, Erik; stop the bullet, or be shot by it. Failing, and Schmidt's vicious laughter. He was helpless, with nothing but agony and fury to fill the growing absence of his heart. _

_ Schmidt was threatening him again. He had failed again, and it was time to pay. Who would suffer this time? His eyes fixed on the door. He knew that any moment, he would be seeing the ratty dress and anemic face of his mother. Her tangled brown locks beneath their bindings would fray away from her head just as they always did, and her brown eyes would plead for him to save her...save her!_

_ But then, he saw no ratty dress. Her anemic face was replaced by elegance marred strangely by cuts and bruises; her tangled brown locks were replaced by gently waving, silken black strands, so foreign in their present disarray. But those eyes...there was nothing foreign in those eyes. Perhaps that was the most disconcerting of all - that even in his predicament, his eyes could still hold such poise and calm. _

_ "It's all right, Erik," he said. They said. Those eyes, they spoke volumes. Pain and panic struck Erik's chest as he watched Schmidt raise his Webley. "It's all right, my friend," Charles repeated. Those blue eyes, marred by bruises and lacerations, never once so much as flickered to the gun._

_ "I'll kill you!" Erik screamed at Schmidt. He knew what was going to happen. He knew that there was nothing he could do, that he was powerless to keep this man from killing Charles. His Charles...his beloved Charles. _

_ But he had to try. _

_ "Erik, please." _

_ But Erik ignored him. He would save Charles if it was the last thing he did. His feet were suddenly moving, speeding him towards Schmidt. The gun was level. Schmidt's finger was on the trigger. He was so far away, Erik was; he couldn't seem to run fast enough and then-_

_ BANG. _

_ Like__a__marionette__with__all__its__strings__cut,__Charles__dropped__to__the__ground,__his__blue__eyes__open__and__unseeing.__He__couldn't__believe__it.__So__pale,__so__still,__so__**wrong**_**.**

_ "It's all right, Erik." _

_ The words echoed in his head. He could still hear them. That same warmth he always felt with Charles was seeping through his skull, not so much fighting as weaving its way through the cold violent shock. There were hands on him now. On his shoulders. They were holding him. _

_ "Listen to me, Erik. Listen to my voice." _

_ Erik felt his legs give out, and he sank to his knees. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. He had failed him. Charles was dead. _

_ "I'm not dead, my friend. This isn't real; none of this is real. Just listen to me, Erik. Everything is all right."_

_ The voice was getting louder, stronger. There was a strange clarity to it, now, like everything else had been heard through water and he was only now breaking the surface, and then-_

Erik sat up with a start. There were hands on him still, cool against his bare shoulders, and he quickly tried to throw them off. They fell back on him, though, with austere determination as a voice joined them in his slow-coming senses.

"It's all right, my friend. It was only a nightmare. You're all right."

_It's__all__right_...The words were whispers in his head. He could still see it: Charles unmoving on the floor, blood weeping from his thin body. He tried to shake his head, to clear the images, but a pair of hands, soft and free of calluses so very much unlike his own, settled on either side of his face and lifted his head.

"Look at me, Erik."

He found himself staring into the brightest pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. They seemed to produce their own light, supplementing that from the singular lamp on the bedside table.

Charles was watching him, concern and sympathy etched on his features. It only then occurred to him their positions. He was sitting up in his bed, covers pooled around his waist revealing his bare torso. Charles was sitting on the side of the bed next to his hip, face barely more than a foot from his own now that he was sitting. There was pain in those blue eyes, and as Charles parted his lips to speak, Erik watched a single drop of moisture trace a trail from his eye down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, my friend," he whispered.

He realized, then, why Charles was so upset. He'd seen it, too. He'd seen Erik's nightmare, just as he'd seen Erik's past horrors that night in the sea. "You saw it," he said.

"It wasn't my intention, Erik. Your mind cried out to me so sharply...your pain was too acute, it broke through my shields."

He sounded apologetic, but once again, he had no reason to be. It sounded as though he hadn't had much choice in the matter, and from the anguish on his beautiful face, he clearly hadn't taken any pleasure in the experience. Erik almost felt guilty for exposing him to that.

_It__wasn't__your__fault._

Erik's head snapped up. Charles hadn't spoken, but he'd heard his voice.

Charles blanched. "I'm sorry, that wasn't-I mean to say, it's rather difficult to reestablish my shields when I'm like this."

_When__you're__upset..._

Erik hadn't had to say the words, but he knew Charles had heard him. Charles blushed slightly - it added a flush of color to his too-pale cheeks - and nodded.

"I apologize for waking you..."

"It sounds to me like it should be me apologizing to you for that," Erik said. It suddenly made sense to him why Charles had been so tired the last few days. For him, the nights had been quiet, but for Charles, even his tamest mental conjurations must have been enough to disturb his rest.

_But__you__do__make__such__a__nice__pillow._

Erik smiled at that. Charles clearly hadn't meant the thought to slip through, but it seemed the shields worked both ways. His flush deepened, and he went to stand.

But Erik couldn't have that. Before Charles could rise, he grabbed hold of his t-shirt. The thin fabric crumpled in his grasp, and so, too, did Charles. The young professor fell right back to where he was sitting, perhaps even a little closer.

"You're an amazing creature, Charles Xavier," he said, and made no efforts to conceal the wonderment in his voice.

"I'm not sure how you mean," Charles replied. He'd regained a bit of his composure, but it was so thin, Erik knew just the slightest pressure would tear through it again. He had, at least, managed a smile, and hollow as it was, Erik found it to be an improvement.

He smiled a smile of his own and leaned in a little closer, until he could smell the crisp clean of Charles's soap and the mint of his toothpaste and the underlying hint of something that was just purely _Charles_. "This," Erik told him, reaching out to brush his thumb along the track of tears on Charles's cheek. "Your tears, my friend. That you would cry for a creature like me. You, with all your power and splendor, would cry for a murderer. For a monster."

"That is not what you are," Charles told him firmly. He actually looked indignant for Erik's sake. "You are no monster. No murderer. I have seen monsters in this world, Erik; you, no doubt, have seen even more than I. And you will trust me when I tell you that you simply are not one of them, no matter how much you loathe yourself into thinking it."

There was such force behind the words that Erik could only stare at him for a long moment. This man - this _angel_, who with tears still shimmering in his eyes, could defend so fiercely and firmly such a claim - was so far beyond Erik's comprehension. He was staggering, and he awoke something within Erik's chest that he had long thought dead. They were so close. He could feel Charles's warm breath on his face; he could practically feel his body heat.

Erik wasn't sure what happened, but the very next instant, he leaned forward and captured Charles's lips in a kiss. Primal as it was, though, Erik knew in that moment that he would never apologize for his actions. The feel of Charles's lips against his, too firm to be a woman's, but soft enough to yield ever slightly to Erik's more firm insistences. The taste of him was intoxicating, and so was the feel of him. As Erik wove his fingers through those incredibly soft locks, as he slid a hand around his hips, it was like a current running down his nerves.

When air finally made it necessary to break the kiss, Erik did so reluctantly, and he didn't release his hold on the younger man. He allowed Charles back just far enough to see his face and no farther as he searched those gorgeous features for any sign of a reaction.

He was rewarded in his search by the most confounded expression he thought he'd ever seen. Such a sight seemed foreign on Charles's face - Charles, who seemed to know everything about everyone, often before they knew it about themselves.

Seconds passed in silence, each more unbearable than the last, until finally Erik found the need to prompt him. "Charles, I haven't got your talent for mind-reading. Have mercy on we lesser beings? You have to say something."

"You meant that," Charles said suddenly, a look akin to disbelief on his face.

Erik raised an eyebrow. So far, Charles's reaction wasn't what he would call conventional. He'd been expecting either a harsh condemnation, physical assault optional but unlikely, or at least something of the sort. "Yes, Charles, I meant that," he said slowly. Of course he meant it. For one, Erik didn't do things he didn't _mean_; and for two, he certainly wasn't the sort to feign affections.

Charles seemed to be searching for something, and a line of intense concentration formed on his brow. Slowly, though, his eyes started to widen, and then, in an instant, his kiss-reddened lips pulled up into a radiant smile.

Erik, for one, wasn't sure what had just happened. Charles had apparently found something he approved of, but he couldn't tell what. Granted, he wasn't terribly inclined to ask. Especially not when Charles, equal parts timid and inspired, leaned forward and sealed his lips to Erik's in a far more gentle kiss than the first.

_Do__I__still__have__to__say__something?_

Smiling wickedly into the kiss, Erik hooked an arm around Charles's hip and in a single, fluid motion, pulled the smaller man over him. With Charles on his back on the bed, Erik propped a hand on the pillow beneath Charles's tousled hair and leaned over him. Their noses nearly touched, and Erik could feel the heat of Charles's body flush against his own.

"Just say yes."

Unwavering blue eyes stared up at him, filled with warmth and passion and _something__deeper_. All it took was single word to make all of Erik's work worthwhile - a single word to change everything.

"Yes."


	5. Zeroth Law of Thermodynamics

_Zeroth law of thermodynamics: all diathermal walls are equivalent._

The next morning, and nearly every other morning they spent on the road thereafter, Erik awoke to a sensation of warmth the likes of which he'd never experienced prior to meeting Charles. The aforementioned man, the source of his uncharacteristic happiness, was lying in his arms, his back to Erik's chest. Erik had an arm around his narrow hips beneath the covers, and he relished in the feel of the bare, flawless skin against his palm.

Erik had but a moment to cherish the sight of the - no, _his_ - sleeping lover before the younger man started to stir. He watched with fond amusement as Charles turned drowsily, half-asleep, to stare at Erik with glossy eyes. Evidently, he was still tired; Erik wouldn't begrudge him that. They'd had quite the taxing night (which he recalled with a hint of a devilish grin).

"Don't even think about it," Charles muttered, though from the smile on his face, Erik wasn't altogether sure he was being chided. "We need to get on the road."

"One doesn't necessarily exclude the other," Erik replied with a suggestive quirk of an eyebrow.

Charles laughed despite himself, rolling his eyes as he started to sit up. "You're incorrigible," he chided.

As if to prove his lover's point, Erik reached out and pulled Charles back down to the bed, pinning him beneath him and stealing a quick kiss. "I think the word you were looking for is 'insatiable.'"

"Oh yes, you're a regular glutton. Now would you please get off me? Before our charming escorts come looking and get themselves an eyeful?"

"Ah, but Charles, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Sorry to say you missed my exhibitionist stage, my friend," Charles said. This time when he pushed himself up, Erik let him, snapping his fingers remorsefully.

"Damn." Leaning back, he allowed himself to watch as Charles stood up and stretched. Still naked from last night's activities, his lover padded over to his suitcase to get some clothes, his surprisingly well-toned muscles rolling with each graceful movement. He smiled and sat up as well. "I suppose I could always ask that charming sister of yours. Raven probably has so _very_ interesting tales she could tell me."

"She wouldn't," Charles called over his shoulder as he padded into his bathroom.

"You underestimate the teenage drive to gossip."

Charles popped his head out of the bathroom door. "And you overestimate your charisma."

At that, Charles ducked back into the bathroom. He apparently thought the conversation was over.

Erik disagreed.

He waited until he heard the water start running, and then he rose from the bed. Keeping his steps as soft as possible, he walked to the bathroom. From the sounds of things - the way the water in the shower fell, mostly - Erik could tell Charles was already in the shower, and so he quietly pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside. There was already steam in the room just from the short amount of time that the water had been going, and the glass door of the walk-in shower was fogged over just enough to obscure the finer details of Charles's slender form. He could still get the general gist of it - enough to tell that Charles had his back to the shower door.

Allowing himself a small, impish smirk, Erik pulled the glass door open and stepped into the shower behind his lover. As soon as Erik's hands settled around his waist, Charles gave a start, but Erik just pressed a kiss to his neck and rested his chin on his shoulder.

"Relax, Charles. It isn't that sort of shower scene."

Charles turned his head, and Erik moved his own so that Charles could see him without running the risk of breaking his neck. He had a small smile on his face, equal parts affectionate and exasperated. "We don't have time for this, you know," he said. At least, Erik noted, he sounded genuinely disappointed by that fact.

"You see, that is where you are wrong. By sharing the shower, we in fact cut the time in _half_." He smiled. "It's elementary, my dear Charles."

Chuckling, Charles turned around, draping his arms loosely around Erik's shoulders. You're in a very particular mood today, my friend. I don't suppose there's something you want, is there?"

Erik pretended to think, tapping his chin (he needed to shave, he realized; it was a wonder he hadn't scratched Charles's face off). "Let's see...I woke up this morning after a night of amazing sex - you're welcome, by the way - the most superb being I've ever had the pleasure of knowing-" Charles blushed, "-and with whom I am presently sharing a shower. And you're also planning a whole day around a visit to a strip club, I might add." He allowed himself a cheeky grin. "No, Charles, I think I've been sufficiently spoilt for the day."

As it turned out, that wasn't quite the case; there were still more joys to come. For instance, seeing his prim and proper companion in his very first legitimate strip club that evening. Oh, no doubt he'd been to a few in his life, but this was _Las__Vegas_. He wasn't quite sure what, but there was just something that seemed to make the smiles whiter, the lights brighter, and the boobs bigger here in Las Vegas. Perhaps it was something in the water.

Or perhaps something in the silicone.

But he digressed. Leading Charles through the strip club was like taking a shy child through the mall for the very first time. His eyes were drawn to every little thing, but he was too uncomfortable to venture more than an arm's length from Erik's side.

At one point, Charles stopped, raising his fingers to his temples in that thing he did. "That's her," he said, pointing to an exceptionally talented dancer near the far side of the room. Frankly, she really wasn't Erik's type - but then, with Charles pressed so firmly to his side, it was rather hard to be impressed by anyone else - but she certainly seemed to have gathered herself quite the crowd. "How do we get her alone to talk?" Charles wondered aloud.

Erik could have kissed him right then for his innocence. Instead, he smiled, swinging an arm around Charles's shoulder and pulling him close. "Ah, Charles...how else do you solicit the attentions of a solicitor?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folds of cash he had thought to get from the ATM when they were leaving the hotel. Oh, the CIA would have some interesting charges to deal with this month.

Not that he cared; he didn't pay taxes.

For all Charles's reservations on the principle, though, his execution really was quite flawless. He was both professional and charismatic, and even took it in stride when Erik pulled him over to join him on the bed.

"You cats know it's double for both, right?" said their mutant in question, her hand cocked on her hip like she was Cleopatra observing some lowly commoners.

Charles made a small noise beside him, and he set his own champagne down on the bedside table. "No, that won't be necessary," Charles said. "Although I'm sure it would be magical." To his credit, he sounded quite composed; only Erik could pick up on the quickness of the comment, and the slight discomfort in his tone.

Erik decided to throw him a bone. "We were thinking more...we'll show you ours, if you show us yours."

"Baby-" Erik took a moment to reflect on how odd it was to be called "baby" by someone nearly half his age "-that is _not_ how it works around here."

_Should__we__show__her,__Charles?_

_ If you must. _

Erik would interpret that to be Charles's full support. Smiling, he raised his hand to his side and snapped his fingers. Showy, yes; sometimes, though, showy was good. "More tea, vicar?" he asked, lifting the champagne bottle from the ice bucket he had just manipulated from the table.

"Don't mind if I do," Charles replied, allowing Erik to fill his glass once again. Erik was just returning the ice bucket to the table and picking up his own flute when Charles pressed his fingers to his temples. No doubt he was showing little miss dancer here his tricks.

Suddenly, the cold bitch mask gave way to a very un-ladylike snort and a giggle, and he noticed she happened to be looking not at Charles, but at him. Beside him, Charles was chuckling as well, and he put his glass away from his lips and turned to stare at his smiling lover.

"It's good, isn't it?" Charles asked, his cheeks flushed red either from mirth, alcohol, or a combination of the both. Charles never could hold his liquor.

Erik glanced between them. Clearly, he was missing something. "What?" he asked.

The girl - Angel - giggled again. "How did you do that?" she asked.

Charles didn't answer her, though. Instead, he leaned his head nearly onto Erik's shoulder. "You've never looked more beautiful darling," he said, and that was all he would say.

Erik never did find out what Charles had done that day.

Granted, he never much thought to ask. After they'd picked up their first recruit, they'd gone back to the CIA headquarters. Charles had barely had time to put his luggage down before he'd been off to Cerebro with Hank. Erik opted not to join them this time, though; he was getting dangerously close to following through on his threat to turn that abominable machine into a pretzel, and he thought it best to keep some distance between it and himself.

Regrettably, since that happened to be where Charles seemed to spend most of their time on the base, that also meant he didn't get to see much of the professor. Not that they actually _spent_ much time at the base. Two days later - two miserable, boring, practically Charles-less days - they were packing up and shipping off again, this time to New York. There was some cabby Charles had found, and once again, Erik found himself conscribed to an unjustly long car ride.

Normally, it would've been all right, but within the couple hours of the car ride, Erik was antsy. It wasn't that the car ride was long or anything; something just didn't feel right. Charles had fallen asleep against his chest nearly the second the driver took the car out of park, and he hadn't so much as stirred since. And, now that Erik thought about it, his lover didn't look quite himself. His face was pale save his flushed cheeks and, curious, Erik pressed the back of his hand to Charles's brow. The heat there was troubling, and he frowned.

He didn't wake him, though. The dark bags under his eyes urged Erik to let Charles sleep, but he was worried, now. Each shift in his sleep drew Erik's scrutiny, and when they finally came to a rest stop, Erik's anxieties were confirmed. It wasn't anything noticeable at first: Charles came to a little groggily, but he oftentimes did, and then he excused himself to the washroom. Though he thought perhaps he was being a little paranoid, Erik couldn't help following him.

It was a good thing he did. As he reached the door of the lavatory, he could hear the muted noises of what sounded like retching.

Without so much as a thought to the contrary, Erik made quick work of the lock and pulled open the door to the bathroom to find Charles on his knees in front of the mercifully clean-looking toilet, throwing up what little he had been inclined to eat of his breakfast that morning.

Erik locked the door, and was at his side in an instant, kneeling down next to him and putting a hand on his back. Stray strands of hair escaped the hold of Charles's mousse, and Erik brushed them back, all the while frowning worriedly.

"Try to catch your breath, Charles," he urged, and with his spare hand, he reached up to snatch a paper towel and wet it in the sink. When he felt it was sufficiently cool from the water, he wrung it out and draped it over Charles's sweat-slicked neck.

Whether that helped, or Charles simply didn't have anything left to throw up, Erik didn't know, but the heaves finally stopped and Erik was there to pull Charles back against his chest as he fell back away from the toilet. Mercifully, the flusher on the toilet was metal, and Erik quickly dispatched the foul-smelling mess before turning his full attention to his ailing lover.

Charles, still shaking and pale as a sheet, had taken to wiping his mouth on the wet rag Erik had gotten for him. "I'm sorry," he apologized as soon as he seemed able to. His voice still wavered dangerously, and it didn't escape Erik's notice how tightly he sealed his lips after that.

"That you're sick or that you didn't tell me?" was Erik's surprisingly gentle reply. Seeing Charles as miserable as he was, Erik didn't have the heart to berate him more firmly, but he still wasn't going to let Charles get off scott-free.

"I felt better this morning," Charles defended halfheartedly. The defense lost a little of its strength, though, when Charles leaned his head back against Erik's chest with his fingers to his temples.

"Which would be why you partook of practically nothing at all at breakfast this morning." He sighed. "Come on, let's get you up off this floor."

Standing, he helped Charles to his feet, only to catch him as he started to tip forward. His eyes were screwed up tightly, now, and lines marred his brow. It was his head that was the cause of all this trouble, then.

Erik reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his sunglasses which he carefully perched on Charles's face. Normally, he would've just handed them to him, but Charles's hands were shaking so terribly he wondered that he might poke his own eye out. Altogether, it would've been a very Charles thing to do, and as Erik had no pirate fetishes that he knew of, hw preferred his lover with both his eyes, thankyouverymuch.

"You should've told me you were ill, Charles. I'm sure a day or two's postponement wouldn't have set your plans too far off track, and you could use the rest."

Apparently having regained a little more control over his rebellious stomach, Charles was able to give a much more solid response. "I could be sick in bed or in the car; the location is of no consequence."

"That's not true," Erik argued. "A car is a miserable place to be on the best of days; it certainly can't have helped your head."

Charles didn't bother arguing that point, both because he didn't care to lie to Erik, and he knew that it wouldn't _work_ with Erik. "I feel better now, though."

"Now that you've got nothing else to throw up? Yes, Charles, that does tend to be the way these things work."

"Careful, you're starting to sound dangerously like a mother hen."

There was a certain note of fondness and appreciation laced in with the teasing - Erik got the feeling it wasn't often Charles got to be the one being looked after, what with that Messiah complex/paternal instinct of his - and Erik allowed himself a small smile. "Perhaps I wouldn't have to if my chick would learn to take better care of himself," he replied, giving Charles's shoulder a small squeeze. "And on that note, unless you've anything else you want to toss up - your small intestines, perhaps? - we should get you back to the car. I have some Tylenol in my luggage, and you, my friend, need to be medicated."

Charles opened his mouth to protest; he always did in those situations. Something about the way the medications muddled his mind.

Erik wasn't interested, though. As far as he was concerned, Charles was _going_ to take the medicine, and he was _going_ to get some sleep, so it really didn't matter what arguments his lover had to the contrary. Without another word, he walked Charles back out to the car, keeping a hand on the small of his back the whole time lest any of that vertigo from before should choose to return.

By the time they got back on the road, Charles was satisfactorily medicated, and had resumed his favorite sleeping nook against Erik's chest. With any luck, he'd feel better by the time they got to New York. Maybe then, Erik would sit him down for the talking-to he so desperately needed.

Charles thought himself a hero; in many senses, he was. He had the heart of a saint, the vision of a prophet, and the stubbornness of the most tenacious ass. But he had limits...he had boundaries that he shouldn't push himself past, even if he could. It seemed he had found one of those limits, and in typical Charles fashion, had pushed aside his own problems in favor of the greater good.

_My__brilliant__fool,_ Erik thought fondly as he stroked his fingers gently through his lover's soft locks. Everybody hit their walls, some harder than others. One of these days, Charles would have to learn that, extraordinary as he was, sometimes those walls were equivalent for everyone.

Even marvels like Charles.


	6. The Law of Lorentz Force

_The Law of Lorentz Force: dictates the force on a point charge due to electromagnetic fields._

Erik was more than pleased to finally be heading home. This business with the recruiting had it's up points, but mostly, it had been an irksome experience. There had been the strip club, which was admittedly entertaining, and then the car ride spent with that Darwin fellow (most of _his_ attention was devoted to making sure Charles wasn't about to inexplicably pass out or something). After that had been the trip to the aquarium, and the penitentiary. Oddly, that last one hadn't actually been his _least_ favorite of their little adventures.

No, that one fell to a run-in at a bar in Canada. Marv's or something. Regardless, that was where they'd gone to track down a mutant Charles had identified as "Logan." Erik had gotten a bad feeling from the man from the very moment he saw him sitting hunched over the bar. He reminded Erik of a bear, or maybe a wolf huddled over its prey. In short, he wasn't someone that Erik imagined would be worth looking into.

Charles had insisted, though, and of course, Erik had gone along - when had he become such a pushover, he wondered. He had made sure to be the one to approach the man first.

"Excuse me, I'm Erik Lensherr," he'd introduced himself. He'd been going for polite; really, he had.

"Charles Xavier," Charles had said.

"Go fuck yourself."

Erik had raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Charles. _Somehow,__I__told__you__so-_

_ Hush, Erik._

And he had, though he'd allowed himself a small, victorious smirk as he'd followed Charles out of the bar.

Now, though, they were back in bloody Washington D.C. with the CIA and an extra helping of greenhorns. Between their constant bickering, the Suit's constant nagging, and his general inability to tolerate any of it with the patience Charles wore so easily, he hadn't lasted long before he needed to get out.

To that end, he'd procured one of those charming Government issued cars and dragged Charles out to the Lincoln Memorial where they now sat, perched on the steps engaged in one of their better games of chess.

Lately, though, Charles seemed to have spaced out. He'd been staring at the board for much longer than he usually did, and finally, Erik reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Charles?"

Charles blinked, and straightened a bit, though he remained stretched out across the stairs. "Sorry...I can't stop thinking about the others out there...all those minds that I touched." Erik wasn't sure if it was laughter or tears that made his voice hitch the way it did. "I can feel them. Their isolation...their hopes...their ambitions. I can tell you, we're the start of something incredible, Erik. We can help them."

"Can we?" The reaction came as a knee-jerk reaction without any real thought from Erik. He didn't disagree with it, though. He was in this because he believed in Charles; he didn't necessarily extend that belief to Charles's ideals, though he knew his lover would do everything in his powers to realize them. He had his own prejudices, though. "Identification," he said. "That's how it starts...and it ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated."

Charles sighed, both sympathy and determination shining in those brilliant blue eyes of his. "Not this time," he said. "We have common enemies: Shaw, the Russians...they need us."

"For now," he replied.

Erik watched as a frown settled on Charles's face. "I won't let that happen," Charles said. "What happened to you...I won't let it happen to you or anyone else again. I believe in this, Erik; I believe we can find a place, and I will do whatever is needed of me to reach that."

"Including killing yourself in that bloody toy of theirs," Erik snapped. It came out a little harsher than he'd meant for it to, but he wasn't going to take it back. "Don't you see it, Charles? You're their lab rat. They use you...they let you run yourself down until you can scarcely stand, and still they ask more of you. And you let them, Charles! You let them abuse your abilities, your _powers_ for their own pathetic disputes!"

By the time Erik finished, he was nearly yelling, but Charles took the whole thing with that same unfailing calm he always had. Erik watched as he swallowed, his throat bobbing and his jaw setting just so. He _had_ touched a nerve, he realized; Charles was just too good a man to show it.

Charles turned back to the chess board between them, his hand wandering over the pieces. "Perhaps you're right," he said as he selected a piece from the board. "Perhaps I'm just like this pawn...perhaps in the grand scheme of things, I can move only inches to the miles that others roams. Perhaps I will fail, and my King - my _dreams_ - will be taken from me. But I won't be deterred, Erik; I will not be frightened into idleness. I told you I felt them, Erik - I still feel them, in my head and in my heart - and now more than ever, I cannot let them down."

"You owe them nothing, Charles."

"I owe them everything."

Erik straightened, leaning imposingly towards his lover. "And what of you, Charles? What will you sacrifice to help these strangers? Your peace of mind? Your health? You life? When does it end, Charles? Do you owe yourself-"

His rant was silenced by a pair of softer lips against his own. The kiss was brief, but it worked its magic, muting if not calming Erik enough for Charles to speak.

"Thank you, Erik," he said, a soft smile on his face, "for caring enough to ask those questions. But I'm no martyr; I have more than I could've ever asked for now." _I__have__you,__Erik..._ "I only wish to give others a chance to be half as happy as I am. Is that truly such an impossible goal?"

The darker side of Erik wanted to say yes. With no hesitation, it wanted to batter Charles's naivety with the coldness of reality. But the better part, the part of Erik that had spent months in the company of this magnificent, benevolent, _perfect_ being said otherwise.

He subsided, if only slightly. "No," he said. "Not impossible." _Not__for__you._

"Not for us, you mean," Charles corrected.

"Ah, of course. And on that note," Erik plucked his own piece off the board and dropped it onto the appropriate tile, "check mate."

Charles's brows knotted and he dropped his gaze, perplexed, to the board. Sure enough, after a few moments' consideration, he looked up. "Damn," he swore uncharacteristically, "and I thought I was doing so well."

"I'd wish you better luck next time, but we both know it wouldn't do any good," Erik replied with a teasing grin.

An oddly indignant look flashed across Charles's face, but only for a moment before the younger man leaned in close. "I'll have you know," he said, draping his arm over Erik's knee, "that I'm quite good at chess. You're the one that's forgotten the most important rule."

Erik raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Charles's rather than on his lips that were mere inches from his own. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

A spark of mischief lit up in Charles's eyes, and he smiled like the cat that had just eaten the canary. "Don't let the other man take your king." And in an instant, Charles had straightened, dangling Erik's black king between his fingers.

"Give that back, Charles," Erik said firmly, though the smile that pulled at his lips at his lover's antics softened the command.

Charles tapped his chin thoughtfully, but after a moment, he shook his head. "No...no, I don't think I will."

"If you think I'll chase you around the park for a puzzle piece, then I think perhaps that damned machine finally knocked something loose in that lovely head of yours."

"I think you're just afraid you won't be able to catch me," Charles replied smoothly. "And what a blow to your ego _that_ would be...outrun by a mousy professor. What would the children say?"

"Maybe that we're both too old for juvenile games?" Erik guessed. He still wasn't putting any bite in the words; the truth was, he was having fun with this. It was rare to see the professor so at ease, especially now that they'd gotten the children around the base. He always seemed to think he needed to set an example, even though he wasn't much older than Darwin.

Eyes still shining, Charles climbed back up to crouch a few steps in front of Erik. "Perhaps you, my friend, are too old. I'm as young and fit as I ever was. But, of course, with your..._advanced_ years-" Charles's eyes flashed teasingly "-I can understand if you don't have quite the stamina you used to."

Now, it was Erik's turn to lean forward, tipping his fingers under Charles's chin. "Charles, Charles, Charles," he tutted, shaking his head, "you of all people know my stamina is more than adequate."

Now, Erik knew he had the poker face to end all poker faces, so he blamed it on Charles's telepathy that he was thwarted when he made a grab at the chess piece in Charles's hand. The wiry young man hopped back gracefully, bounding down a couple of steps and turning to face Erik.

Who, as it happened, was already hot on his heels. The grin that lit up Charles's face made all thoughts of how _ridiculous_ this was flee from Erik's head. He'd never let go like this - not since he could remember anyway - and there was something strangely liberating about it. He could hear Charles's laughter, see the goofy little grin on his face each time he turned around to see how quickly Erik was gaining on him. He veered off to the right when he made it down the second flight of stairs, running into the grass there.

Of course, being the greyhound of a man that he was, Erik caught up to him not long after that. As soon as he caught up to him, he grabbed his target around the waist. Lifting Charles off his feet, he spun him to keep the momentum from knocking the air out of him; it also helped, getting his feet out from under him, to wrestle him to the ground, and Erik soon had him pinned to the soft grass beneath him. With his longer arms, it wasn't hard to reach out and grab Charles's closed fist, but by the time he did, Erik lost interest.

They were both breathing hard, and Charles's cheeks were pink with the bit of the cool air and the excitement of their little childish game. They made him look even younger than he was, and next to the beauty of the man beneath him, a little piece of carved wood just really wasn't that important.

Just as Erik was leaning down to capture his new prize, though, Charles stiffened, the hand not curled around his chess piece coming up to press against his temple. Erik frowned and sat up off him, so he could help him sit up. "Charles?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"It's Moira," Charles said. Mercifully, he didn't look to be in pain; he had that distracted look he sometimes got when his mind was divided between too many different things. "She wants us back at the base...we need to pack."

"Pack? Charles, we only just got back in town. I think we've got enough recruits for the time being, anyway."

"We're not going for recruits," Charles replied. Slowly, his brows pulled down into knots, a mix of confusion and thoughtfulness. "Russia...he's in Russia."

"Who?" Though Erik was already confident that he knew the answer. Charles looked up at him, then, focus returning to pinpoint.

"Shaw...we're going after Shaw."

Less than a day later found Erik and Charles sitting in the back of a vehicle as it bounced and jarred its way towards a Russian Military Retreat in some obscure part of Russia. They'd been riding for over an hour now, and though Erik had certainly endured worse rides for longer times - he'd once stowed away and slept in a meat truck all the way across Germany - he had to admit he did have his sympathies for Charles. At least it wasn't icy like Russia had a tendency to be sometimes; they weren't in one of the higher elevations, so the weather was actually quite tolerable. Still, whether it was discomfort at the situation or chill or a combination of both, Charles seemed to press himself into Erik's side as closely as physics would allow.

Erik was more than happy to let him, of course.

Suddenly, there was a knock against the wood on their backs, and he and Charles both leaned forward just in time to avoid getting hit by the wooden door that swung up. They helped it on its way, holding it there as Moira turned her head to look at them from the cab.

"We've got a problem," said the driver.

"What?" Erik demanded. "Problem" and "Russian Military Retreat" were not two things that he liked to consider in any combination.

Moira's subsequent apology did little to soothe his concerns. "I'm so sorry," she said. "This wasn't on the map."

Both Charles and Erik looked past her through the windshield to see a barricade set up on the road just ahead. As the truck began to slow to a stop, Erik turned to Charles. Charles wasn't looking at him, though. Amazingly, he was the picture of cool, and was issuing instructions to people who, by all rights, should've been much more prepared for this sort of situation than he. But then, that was Charles - always there in a pinch, and always ready to take control of a situation.

"No matter what happens, act normally. I'll take care of this, all right?" he said, and without allowing any time for further argument, he pulled the flap of wood back down and assumed his seat beside Erik again. Erik watched him as he turned now to address the troops they were riding with. "Listen to me-" Erik's ears were drawn to the exchange taking place at the front of the truck.

It seemed he wasn't the only one that could hear the men's approach, because every one of the soldiers instantly raised their guns. Bracing his hand on the top of the truck, Charles stood. "Easy, easy, chaps," he said. Erik himself made no moves, but inwardly, he was just as tense as the soldiers were. Should things take a turn for the worst, he was ready to do whatever it took to keep Charles out of harm's way.

Charles was the picture of control, though, and Erik watched as he pressed his fingers to his temples. Whatever he was about to do, it was going to require some concentration, then.

Erik's heartbeat quickened in his chest as the doors started to open. Already, he had zeroed in on the metals of the Russians' guns and helmets, ready to strike should the need arise. As the door opened, though...nothing happened. The men, including the driver and a Russian or two, were staring straight at them, but they appeared to be seeing nothing at all.

He heard a few comments in Russian, but Erik's knowledge of the language was too rusty to bother diverting his attention to translating. He was more focused on the way Charles's shoulders were heaving as he strained, no doubt, to hold up whatever illusion he was projecting.

As soon as the doors closed, Charles sank back onto the bench, nearly falling into Erik's lap in the process. The effort had taken something out of him, though Erik couldn't be certain as of then how much. Reaching over, he placed a reassuring hand on Charles's knee. He had no desire to speak in front of these soldiers - they had no business in their affairs, as far as Erik was concerned - so he fell back on a more...subtle form of communication.

_That__was__brilliant,__Charles._

_ I wasn't sure it would work. _

_ I don't believe you...but no matter. Try to catch your breath; I've the feeling you'll be needing it soon in kind. _

Less than an hour later found them huddled on the side of an embankment, watching as a helicopter landed in front of the base. It had no sooner touched the ground than a figure in white emerged, and then it took off just as quickly.

Erik recognized the figure, but it wasn't whom he was expecting. He dropped the binoculars from his eyes. "Where's Shaw?" he ground out.

The question had been directed at Moira - the bite in it should've been enough to show that - but it was Charles that answered. "I don't know," he said, knotting his brows. "But she's a telepath, and I read her, she'll know we're here." For a moment, he looked stumped, and frustrated in the condition, but then he settled back down against the embankment and raised his fingers to his temple.

Beside him, Moira put her binoculars back up, but Erik watched Charles just a little longer. The way he closed his eyes, the way his jaw stood out...it was the same as with Cerebro. He was pushing himself too hard. There was nothing he could do about it, though; this was their chance to find Shaw, and they had come this far already.

He did eventually put his binoculars back up, though, in time to see Emma Frost exchange a few words with a suited man that looked to be of some importance. Together, they turned towards the door and headed inside.

"He's not coming," Charles said as Erik lowered his binoculars again. Charles turned to the side, resting on his elbow as he directed those piercing blue eyes Moira's direction. "So, what now, boss?"

"Now, nothing," Moira said. "We're here for Shaw. Mission aborted."

"The hell it is!" Erik snapped, and he started for the building only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. Had it been Charles's, he probably would've heeded it.

But it wasn't; it was Moira's, whose opinion he couldn't have cared less for. "Erik," she started.

He cut her off. "She's his right-hand woman," he said. "That's good enough for me."

"The CIA invading the home of a Soviet official? Are you crazy?"

A single corner of Erik's lips pulled up into a crooked, cavalier smile as he shook his head. "I'm not CIA," he said, and that was that. He started to stand, even as he heard Charles call out to him from behind him. It was too late; Moira had only egged him on, and he was off through the woods.

For the record, there was something to be said for the security of military bases. They worked so hard to build it up, installing things like tanks and barbed wire and posting men with guns. He supposed it really would've been an imposing sight, save for one thing:

It was all made of metal.

The barbed wire was the most convenient to his immediate endeavors, and with a twist of his wrists as he ran, he brought coils of it alive like snakes to wrap around the unsuspecting guardsmen. Their cries of surprise fell on deaf ears, not because Erik couldn't understand the language, but because he simply didn't care. They were standing between him and his goal, and had they the power, he had no doubt they wouldn't hesitate to shoot him where he stood.

His long legs beat the gravel beneath his feet, and a guardsman by the bridge was dragged down by an agonizing tether of barbed wire. With a flick of his wrist, he raised the traffic bar at the gate, ducking under it only to stop as two guards appeared in his path with their guns pointed his way. They too fell victim to his powers, and a tug from each hand pulled the guns and their owners forward off their feet. One was starting to rise as Erik passed him, and Erik raised his foot high enough mid-stride to catch the man in his head. With the speed he was moving, Erik had no doubt the man would not be getting up soon enough to interfere.

He didn't slow until he reached the door, and that was only for the sake of an entrance. As he stepped into the first hall, two more guards appeared. He took vicious glee in breaking their guns apart with nothing but a flash of will, and when one hadn't fallen quite like he'd wanted, he forced his gun into his face with enough force to put him out cold.

His war path continued all the way to the room that held the ambassador and the aforementioned right-hand woman. Just as he flung the doors open, he became aware of another presence at his side. He turned to see Charles, breathless and disheveled (probably not unlike himself), but when he turned back to the room, he found a far more perplexing sight.

The ambassador was sitting up on the bed, making all sorts of noises that Erik really preferred not to think about as he moved his hands up and down in front of him. It was like someone had taken a sex dream and sleepwalking and made some horrible combination of the two to inflict on the pathetic old man.

He turned back to Charles, trying not to look _too_ mortified, only to find his lover was fighting the same battle and apparently losing.

_What__the__hell?_

_ I haven't the slightest, and I really think I'm better off for it. _

That wasn't entirely true, though. Erik found Charles knew exactly what was going on, as he shifted his gaze to Emma Frost on the sofa. "Nice trick," he said.

The words seemed to wake the ambassador from his little delusion and he spat out a demand that Erik couldn't be bothered to translate. The old man reached for his gun at his hip, but just as Erik was about to do to him some variation of what he'd done to everyone else that had tried a firearm against him that day, Charles held out a hand to the man.

"Go to sleep." And just like that, the man fell backward, apparently out cold.

With him out of the way, Erik was free to turn his attentions to Emma, who had shifted into her diamond form. Charles's hand once again went to the side of his head, and Erik found himself wondering just if Charles could handle much more of his powers. He'd never really seen him wear himself out without the added strain of Cerebro, but he knew he had to have his limits.

"You can stop trying to read my mind, sugar," Emma said as she paced in front of them. Suddenly, Charles winced, almost like he'd been struck, but his gaze fell dutifully back to her, his jaw set determinedly. "You're never going to get anything from me while I'm like this."

There was a long, tense moment after that. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Charles glance at him, and the very next moment, Emma started towards them. He couldn't help wondering for a moment if maybe, just maybe, Charles had caught a glimpse of something, but he didn't get long to reflect on it. In unison, both he and Charles grabbed an arm and together they managed to wrangle Emma back to the bed. Erik quickly manipulated the bars of the bed frame to twist around her, holding her firmly in place.

"So, then, you can just tell us," he said, compacting the frame until there would be no way for the woman to escape it. All traces of levity or mercy fled from him, and his face hardened. "Where's Shaw?" Instead of an answer, though, he got more struggles from the woman who had already tried his patience. Another bar of metal snapped up to coil around her neck; he imagined that if she thought he was bluffing, that would be enough to show her otherwise.

"Erik," Charles said beside him. His tone was almost cautionary.

It didn't snap him from his rage, though, and more coils of metal snapped around her arms. Slowly, the coil around her neck slithered tighter and tighter, and he watched as she winced.

"Erik, that's enough."

Erik shook his head, once, unable to release his anger. This woman had helped him; she had helped Shaw, and as far as he was concerned, that gave her the same death warrant as Shaw. Anyone who served such a man deserved to die with him, and she was no exception. The people she had no doubt hurt...the lives she had no doubt ruined, just like Shaw had ruined his. He would ruin her, then. He _was_ ruining her, crack by precious crack; she was shattering. Just the right amount of force applied to just the right place, and that would be the end of her.

He could feel the tension rising. Charles was losing his calm as well. "Erik, that's enough!" he snapped. Something in the way he said it, in the desperation as much as the pleading, brought him to his senses, and with a rush of air from his lungs, he released his control of the bars. As they receded, so, too, did Frost's diamond skin.

Gesturing to her, he raised his eyes to meet Charles's. "All yours." It wasn't quite an apology, but it was as close as he could manage right at the moment. "She won't be shifting into diamond form again," he said as he readied himself a finger of scotch. "And if she does, give her a gentle tap."

Though he feigned disinterest, Erik threw the occasional glance over his shoulder to watch what Charles was doing. The psychic had knelt with his hand at its usual post at his temple, and he was staring so intently at the woman that it seemed as though he was looking into her very soul. Knowing Charles, he might very well have been.

He'd only just taken a seat when Emma spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked.

Judging by the barely concealed look of disgust on Charles's face as he let his hand fall, Erik was going to wager it was anything but. Charles said nothing to her, though, turning instead to Erik. "This is worse than he previously imagined," he said, his voice strained as he fought to hold onto his perpetual control. There was no hiding the revulsion, though - not from Erik, who knew the psychic as well as (maybe better than) anyone could - as he turned back to her. "We're taking you with us. The CIA will want to question you themselves."

"I doubt it," Emma Frost retorted. "They have bigger things to worry about right now."

And whether it was an accident that she let it through, or she meant it to cause Charles pain, something must've flared in Emma's mind that caught Charles off guard. The man staggered back, his hand on his head, and Erik was at his side in an instant. "What is it, Charles?" he asked. For a moment, he considered returning those bars to their previous occupation of strangling the life out of this venomous bitch, but Charles's answer stopped him. Instead, he simply loosed a metal cigar case into the side of her head. Charles hadn't wanted him to kill her, after all; he hadn't said anything about knocking her unconscious

Not that Charles had the frame of mind to protest much of either. He looked to be in some sort of shock. "They found them," he gasped, his eyes opened wide but so far out of focus Erik couldn't help wondering if Charles saw him at all. "They're there."

"Found who, Charles? Who is where? You're not making sense."

"Shaw, Erik," Charles said. "Shaw is at the base. The other mutants - they're not safe."

And for the first time since he'd met him, Erik found out what it was like to see Charles truly scared.


	7. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

_Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle: uncertainty in position multiplied by uncertainty in momentum is equal to or greater than the reduced Planck constant divided by 2._

They barely even made it into the car at the airport before Charles broke down. There were no tears, no sobs, no cries of anguish. His shoulders simply slumped, and he went dead silent. It was like he drew into himself, unwilling to show what he was feeling lest it snowball out of his dwindling control the moment he gave it voice.

"You know what happened, then," Erik said, trying to keep his voice as passive as possible. He wasn't really sure how to approach this situation, mostly because he didn't understand what Charles would be feeling. He knew his own feelings: anger, rage, indignation. He knew that Shaw had struck again, and that was enough to get his blood boiling.

But Charles wasn't that sort. Erik supposed he did _know_ what Charles was feeling, or at least he could guess within a reasonable degree of certainty. Guilt, he imagined. An illogical feeling of responsibility for what had happened, and a grief at the loss of a life. Life was so precious to Charles, after all; everything was precious to Charles, but he was only just beginning to realize that he was not alone in the world. For just a single one of those beacons of hope for him to be extinguished...Erik imagined it felt like losing just a little bit of his heart.

He _knew_ in his head, but that didn't mean he could empathize. What Charles felt was no less legitimate than what he felt (if, perhaps, a little misdirected), Erik just couldn't feel the same, and that put him at an impasse. Unsure, he fell back on his chameleon response: just act as they act until you're more comfortable with the situation. Charles was oddly detached, so he aimed to seem at least mildly disinterested until he could get a real feel for what was going on in Charles's head.

"Yes," Charles said softly. His eyes never once left the window they were staring at, and Erik couldn't quite recall the last time he had blinked. "Something happened."

Erik watched, his heart wrenching in pain as Charles cleared his throat. It seemed no matter how much Charles tried to retreat back into the facade of professionalism, some of the grief still slipped through in the lump in his throat and the shine in his eyes.

Charles didn't have to be prompted again. Once he seemed to be confident enough to speak again, he did, quietly as before. "People died."

"Any of the mutants?"

"That shouldn't matter." But they both knew it did. After a moment, Charles conceded. "Darwin died protecting Angel. Angel left with Shaw." Each sentence came out more clipped than the last, like he was simply reciting facts from memory, until finally he just went quite altogether. He put his hand to his head, effectively hiding his face from view save what Erik could see in the reflection.

What he saw unnerved him, but didn't altogether surprise him. There was a coldness in those blue eyes he had rarely seen. He'd seen it in Russia, after Emma had revealed Shaw's plans, but even now, it was a little different. Erik could practically see the gears turning. No doubt Charles was trying to figure out what to do with the situation. Practical as always, and always looking out for everyone's best interests.

Erik knew there was nothing he could do for the time being, as much as it pained him, and so he forced himself to sit back for the rest of the car ride and allow Charles his moment of silence.

When they arrived, though, the silence came to an abrupt halt. Charles said nothing, but he didn't have to; the madness of the scene they were arriving to said more than enough. It was chaos, with slabs of concrete strewn here and there, and smoke still rising in places. Men in suits and maintenance jumpers alike bustled about the place with the sort of frenzy that can only be seen post-disaster. The car hadn't even stopped before Charles was jumping out of it, and he took no more than two steps before breaking out into a run. "Raven!" Erik heard him call as he ran over the benches in front of the ruins of the facility. It seemed to be the only thing still intact, from what Erik could see.

Erik followed behind him, as quickly as his long legs would carry him at a walking pace. He wasn't surprised to find Charles embracing his sister; he honestly hadn't thought of it, though. His shock suddenly made far more sense now, when Erik considered he thought his sister might have been dead. He supposed that though the news had been tragic, perhaps Charles might have gotten some solace in knowing his sister was alive.

"We've made arrangements for you to be taken home immediately," Charles said as soon as the embrace was over.

Erik, for one, was unaware of such arrangements, but Charles had been silent for so long - maybe he'd made some calls, so to speak. Erik wouldn't have put it past him. Practical Charles, thorough Charles, always thinking of everything.

_Everything__save__himself._

"We're not going home," said one of the youngsters. Sean-something. Screech. "And he's not going to prison."

All eyes fell to young Alex. "He killed Darwin," the young felon snapped. Erik had to admire his straight-forwardness.

"All the more reason for you to leave," Charles said firmly. Looking at him now, he seemed even more firm than before. None of the emotions Erik knew he must be feeling so much as peeked through that infallible mask of composure. "It's over."

Erik, of course, knew the admission for what it really was. Charles was giving up. He was surrendering his king - throwing away his dream - because he thought that was what was best for the kids.

But, of course, his sacrifice was lost on them. "Darwin's dead, Charles, and we can't even bury him," Raven said. Erik wished they would stop saying it; couldn't they see Charles knew? Did they really think Charles was even capable of being so dispassionate? Himself, maybe, but not Charles. Never Charles. These children couldn't see beyond their own grief, and in doing so, they were causing his Charles even more.

It needed to end. "We can avenge him," he said. It was the only way. Shaw needed to pay for what he had done, these children needed recompense for what they had lost, and Charles needed to not give up his dream. His solution satisfied everyone all around.

Well, except for Charles's moral compass, of course. Charles looked up at him, and then, with his hands in his pockets, started towards him. "Erik, a word please," he said, softly but not altogether gently. He brushed by Erik's shoulder as he went, and the touch wasn't affectionate. Erik would've been bothered by such a gesture normally, but at least Charles was finally showing _some_ sort of emotion.

Turning, he followed Charles over a little ways away, pulling off his sunglasses as he went. Once their backs were to the kids and they were sufficiently far away, Charles started to speak.

"They're just kids," he said. Erik could read between the lines, though. _They're__kids...it's__my__job__to__protect__them._

"No, they were kids," Erik corrected. "Shaw has his army; we need ours."

Charles let the words sink in for a moment, then dropped his gaze before turning back to the others. Looking at their faces, he seemed to come to a decision, and that effortless authority of came roaring fully to the surface. Erik couldn't help admiring it, such as it was.

"We'll have to train," he said. "All of us...yes?"

All the kids nodded, and oddly, Alex was the one to vocalize with a "yeah."

"Well, we can't stay here," Hank intervened. Ah, McCoy. Always the logical one. "Even if they reopen the department, it's not safe. We've...got nowhere to go."

Erik watched as a bitter sort of smile crept onto Charles's face.

"Yes, we do."

After yet another car ride, Erik found himself in Westchester, standing in front of what might very well have been the largest house he'd seen in the states.

Sean gave voice to his thoughts. "This is yours?" he asked.

Charles, standing just behind Erik, turned to Sean with a fond smile. "No," he said. "It's ours."

Erik had never really felt _small_ standing next to anything, but here, standing in front of this monolith of a building, he really did feel just a little bit...well, mousey. "Honestly, Charles," he started, "I don't know how you survived..." he turned to Charles, and though there was a teasing smile on his own face, Charles's was surprisingly blank. It did morph into a bit of a smile, though, when their eyes met, and Erik was free to continue his jest, "...living in such hardship."

"Well, it was a hardship softened by me," said Raven, and for some reason, she seemed to decide it was crucial that she walk _directly_ between Erik and Charles to get where she was going, which was apparently actually...just...right between Erik and Charles.

Erik was pretty sure she was gifted with an extra mutant ability she hadn't told them about. Somewhere along the way, some gene or chromosome had done a funky shift, and somehow gifted her with superior cock-blocking abilities.

"Come on," she said, "time for the tour."

At that point, Erik wasn't certain where this was going or how it was going to get there, but he was going to see this through. For Charles.


	8. Conservation of Energy

_Conservation of Energy: states that the total amount of energy in an isolated system remains constant over time. Energy can neither be created nor be destroyed: it can be transformed from one form to another or transferred from one place to another._

"I thought when he said we'd have to train that he meant _all_ of us," Sean whined as they all sat down in the kitchen. The daring, pubescent males were already digging into their lunch while Erik was content to let his hunger simmer for a little while. He was still contemplating taking them out for another run, unbeknownst to them. They had just gotten in from their first one, from which Charles had been decidedly absent. Charles had asked Erik to lead them, and of course, Erik had accepted.

Sadly for the kids, that meant they ran an extra handful of laps around the mansion grounds. He was of the impression that Charles went too easy on them, and though it had only been a couple of days, he was more a "toss 'em headlong into the water and hope they can swim."

Or, in Sean's case, toss them headlong off the satellite dish and hope they can scream loud enough to fly.

He maintained Charles was thinking it, too.

But he digressed. With a flick of his index finger, Erik manipulated the spoon from Alex's hand to thwap Sean on the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Sean yelped indignantly, rubbing the place on his head that Erik had just creatively abused with a piece of Charles's family silver.

"You should learn to think before you speak," he said firmly. It was time these kids started figuring out just how good they had it. "Hank, who is it that provides for your research and helps you through the ungodly hours of the morning?"

Hank blushed, more at being put on the spot than being proven wrong. He always seemed to appreciate Charles plenty, but Erik still had a point to make. "Professor Xavier," he said.

"And you, Sean...who spent hours researching frequencies just so he could help you with your abilities?"

"Professor Xavier..."

"And Alex, who taught you how to _not_ destroy everything within a ten mile radius every time you use your powers? Or have I made myself clear enough already?" That wasn't even half of what Charles had done for them, in all honesty. They didn't know about Cerebro, or even just the day to day nonsense that Charles put up with that Erik would probably have murdered them for a long time ago. It was the little things as well as the monumental things; one measly run to the list of all the things he _had_ done was so insignificant it was nearly laughable.

Sean had the decency to blush, too, so that did make it better. Though Erik had half a mind to make them run another lap, he decided to let them off the hook just this once. Besides, he was admittedly a little curious as to where Charles had gotten off to. He was a big boy, and could take care of himself, obviously, but that didn't mean that Erik wasn't curious. He hadn't really gotten much of a chance to talk with him since all this "training" started - they'd played only one measly game of chess, half of which Charles had spent staring off into space, and any sort of advance Erik had tried to make had been excused with some task Charles had waiting in the wings.

Without bothering to give an explanation to the kids, he stood up and made his way upstairs. He needed to stop by his room to pick something up, then he'd head out to the grounds to look for his missing lover. He _had_ found, despite the little time he'd actually been able to spend alone with Charles, that the younger man seemed to prefer being outdoors around this place. He imagined he'd probably find him on the grounds somewhere with a nice view.

Sure enough, when Erik got outside, that was precisely where Charles was. All right, he wasn't precisely in plain sight, but Erik would've seen him most places on their run, and since he hadn't, process of elimination made it pretty easy to track down the wandering psychic.

He found him near the back entrance, by the fencing overlooking the golf course and pond. Charles had his arms folded over the rails and seemed to be lost in thought looking out at the greens. Seeing an opportunity, Erik made his steps quiet as he approached, aided by the sneakers and soundless sweatpants. Silently sliding the gun from the back waistband of his pants, he waited until he mere inches behind Charles to strike.

So lost in thought had Charles been that he didn't even notice Erik was there until he heard the gun clicking, and by then, it was too late. Erik would give him credit; he did _try_ to react appropriately. With surprising speed, Charles whipped his arm back and tried to catch the gun, but Erik simply moved it out of the way, and instead grabbed Charles's arm and pulled him back against his chest, smiling smugly.

"Tsk, tsk, Charles. How can you expect to fight a battle if you're too busy daydreaming to notice an armed opponent?"

"You're not an opponent," Charles defended, and then sniffed a little. "Besides, the safety was off."

Well, he hadn't _actually_ been planning to shoot him.

Nuzzling a kiss against Charles's neck, he raised the gun so that Charles could see it and very pointedly shifted the safety off. "Now it isn't," he whispered, delighting in the small shudder that ran through Charles's frame as Erik's breath brushed against his ear.

"I'm not going to like where this is going, am I?" he asked.

In response to his question, Erik reached down with his free hand and lifted Charles's own, palm up. He promptly deposited the gun in it, and then stepped around in front of his lover. "I have a trick I've been wanting to try," he explained. "I need you to shoot me."

Charles blinked. "Pardon me, you need me to _what_?"

"Shoot me," was Erik's deadpanned reply. "The trick is stopping a bullet; I imagine it ought to come in handy soon enough."

"Yes, but..." Charles made a face. "I can't shoot you, Erik."

"Of course you can. Just pull the trigger, and _trust__me_ to do the rest." Erik placed a particular interest on those two words, and it seemed it did not go unnoticed. Charles frowned a little, but Erik knew he really did trust him. As a show of that, Charles took a long step back, extending his head and pulling back the hammer on the gun that he had leveled with Erik's forehead.

"You're sure?" he asked.

Erik nodded and smiled, stepping in a little closer and readying himself to stop the bullet. "I'm sure." For some reason, Charles's discomfort kept making his grin grow wider. It was just so unusual seeing Charles so flustered. Upset, yes; angry, even, though he kept that to himself mostly; but to see Charles truly flustered and uneasy was a rare sight indeed.

He watched as Charles took a deep breath, and even went so far as to close his eyes. When even that didn't work, Erik had to fight the urge to keep from laughing. Charles was really quite adorable when he was conflicted. As the younger man gritted his teeth, though, he was almost certain he was going to do it, and he was excited. He supposed some small part of him wanted to show off - all the other mutants had gotten to prove their powers, so now it was time Charles got to see why Erik was still the master. Still his equal.

At the very last second, though, Charles faltered. "No," he said, dropping the gun. Erik's smile didn't fall, though, as Charles continued. "No, I can't. I'm sorry; I can't shoot anybody point blank. Let alone my friend."

"Oh, come on!" Erik chided, reaching down to pull the gun back level with his head. He held Charles's wrist between his own two larger hands just so Charles couldn't move it. "You know I can deflect it! You're always telling me I should push myself."

When Charles wrenched his arm away, though, Erik didn't fight him. "If you know you can deflect it, then you're not challenging yourself," Charles retorted. He let out a terse sigh. "What happened to the man who was—who was ed to the man who was-whlet out a terse sigh. "What happened to the man who was-who was trying to movtrying to move a submarine?"

That took the smile from Erik'g s face. "Wha—I can't," he replied, taking the gun from Charles's hand when he offered it. "Something that big, I need the situation. The anger."

"The anger's not enough."

Erik stared at him curiously. "It's gotten the job done all these years."

"It's nearly gotten you killed all this time," Charles corrected. Briefly, his eyes wandered about, until he turned on his heel, clapping Erik on the shoulder as he went. "Hey, come here." Erik supposed he had no choice but to follow the smaller man as he made his way over to the railing. "Let's try something a little more challenging."

Because stopping a bullet point-blank with his mind was...what? Child's play?

"See that?" Charles asked, pointing to the satellite dish on the other end of the greens. Erik walked past him, moving all the way up to the rail and staring at the massive thing. "Try turning it to face us." He said it as if such a thing would be a simple task. As if such a thing was even a _possible_ task.

Erik glanced back at Charles. _You__**are**__joking,__right?_

_ Not in the least._

Well, now that that was settled. Frowning a little to himself, Erik turned back towards the dish, took a steadying breath, and went for it. With every fiber of his being, he commanded that dish to move. He commanded it to turn and twist and bend to his will just like everything else.

Only it wasn't quite so compliant as, say, a bullet. Strain as he might, it simply wouldn't move, and with a choked gasp, he had to let it go. He bowed his head to the rail as all the blood rushed back from his head to its rightful place and his lungs struggled to recapture the air they'd lost.

"You know," Charles began behind him, "I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage...and serenity." Erik looked back at him, partly perplexed at his words, and partly pissed at his outrageous demand. "Would you mind?" Charles wiggled his fingers, obviously pantomiming his own powers.

Too dumbstruck (and tired) for words, Erik just shook his head. No, he wouldn't mind. Charles was becoming a rather familiar presence in his head, anyway, and if it could make him stronger...

Charles pressed his fingers to his temples, and suddenly, the world was alight. Visions danced through his head, nearly as if they were in front of his very eyes.

_Candles...a__face__ – __his__mother__'__s__ – __and__a__smile.__It__was__his__birthday,__and__even__though__they__didn__'__t__have__much,__they__were__together,__and__that__was__miracle__enough.__He__'__d__truly__never__felt__so__special,__the__way__his__mother__looked__at__him__with__love__in__her__eyes.__It__was__a__peace__he__hadn__'__t__remembered__experiencing__as__a__child__ – __a__peace__not__unlike__the__sort__Charles__afforded__him.__There__was__love__there,__too.__Love...the__word__he__'__d__long__denied__came__rushing__to__the__surface,__and__it__nearly__choked__him__with__its__power._

And then, all too quickly, it was gone. The warmth of the candles, the warmth of Charles's presence in his mind – all of it was gone. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and he shook his head once, sharply.

A similar trail of moisture run its way down Charles's alabaster cheek, and the younger man brushed it away with a thumb. It was the second time Erik's mind had made Charles cry.

"What did you just do to me?" he whispered.

Slowly, Charles came to join him on the rail, leaning so that he faced Erik. "I...accessed the brightest corner of your memory system...it was a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you." As he spoke, his voice wavered.

_His__mother__'__s__smile...Charles__'__s__warmth...love..._

"I didn't know I still had that," he said.

He wasn't sure whether he was talking about the memory, though, or something else entirely.

_Can__I__love?_

Charles matched his gaze with red-rimmed orbs, so strong even in their kindness. "There's so much more to you than you know," he said with such conviction and admiration...Erik couldn't believe such a look could ever be directed at him. "Not just pain...and anger. There's good, too. I felt it. When you can access all of that, you'll possess a power no one can match...Not even me."

_I__don__'__t__want__power__to__match__you...I__just__want__you_.

Charles didn't seem to be listening to him anymore – not in that sense, anyhow. "So, come on," he said. With a bright smile, Charles clapped him on the shoulders once again. "Try again?"

After such a speech, how could Erik refuse? That Charles believed in him so strongly...perhaps it wasn't the memory at all that would give him power, but the confidence that such an amazing creature as Charles could have such faith in him. He wouldn't disappoint him.

Staring at the obstacle that had become his enemy, Erik forced his mind to focus.

_Candles...his__mother__'__s__smiling__face...the__feel__of__Charles__'__s__smaller__body__against__his...his__lips,__his__smile,__his__eyes...his__admiration...Erik__loved__him...oh,__how__he__loved__him._

More moisture slipped down his face, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the beating of his heart and the piece of metal that would be his proving ground. The first creak of metal broke through Erik's intense focus; it augmented, rather than distracted, his efforts. Slowly, but surely, the massive satellite yielded to his will, turning inch by tenuous, straining inch. Suddenly, laughter bubbled in his chest. Happy laughter, painful laughter, _glorious_ laughter pulled his lips back in a smile like he hadn't smiled in years, and he nearly collapsed from the relief of it.

Charles's hand found his shoulder, and he looked up at him, unable to keep the grin from his face. He had done it. He had done the impossible.

_ Because of Charles...for Charles..._

A sudden shout interrupted the moment, and Charles patted his shoulder with a quick "well done" before turning to see who was calling them.

It was Moira. "Charles, we need to talk!" she shouted.

Charles turned back to him, an apologetic frown on his face.

Erik saved him the trouble of apologizing. Blatantly unconcerned with what Moira saw or didn't see, he leaned forward and stole a deep kiss from his lover. It had been too long in coming, ever since they'd gotten to this mansion, and coupled with the excitement of his new victory, it was all Erik could do to restrain himself to a kiss.

He managed, though, and brushed a hand through Charles's hair with a smile. "Go," he said. "Enjoy your play date with Secret Agent Barbie. I'll see you later."


	9. Fick's First Law

_Fick's First Law: relates the diffusive flux to the concentration, by postulating that the flux goes from regions of high concentration to regions of low concentration._

_Note: this is where the storyline blatantly diverges. Canon-ness from this point forth is debatable, but it doesn't have to be canon to be fun to write, so allow me my indulgences, yeah? _

As it turned out, "later" wasn't that evening. Whatever it was Moira had needed to talk to Charles about, it seemed to be important, and probably rather longwinded (albeit, Erik had found most of these agent types tended to run their mouths beyond what was necessary). Granted, Erik hadn't waited up very long. Today's efforts had taken a toll on him, and he was bone tired enough to turn in before ten that night.

He hadn't gone to sleep, though. He'd laid down, but his head was still spinning far too quickly to submit itself to the confines of sleep. After a shower to try to settle his thoughts to his body's level of exhaustion, he finally pulled down his covers to go to sleep. Using his powers to give the metal-beaded cord of the lights a tug, he immersed the room in dark, and finally stretched out to fall asleep. Things were mercifully quiet, now...his mind was finally settled, and slowly, his mind sank into the dark quiet of sleep.

_Please,__mother,__no!_

Erik's eyes snapped open with a start. That thought...surely, that hadn't been his. It wasn't a voice he knew, but there was something in it he recognized.

_It__was__my__fault,__mother.__She__didn__'__t__know__any__better!_

There it was again. Erik sat up, flicking on the lights. Was someone there? Was someone fucking with his head? But no, there didn't seem to be anyone there, and he was almost certain he wasn't dreaming. This didn't feel like a dream, but—a flash of something whipped through his head. A woman in a red dress with red hair and red eyes stared down at him, but it wasn't him. He was too small to be Erik.

_She__'__s__of__no__bother__to__you;__she__isn__'__t__even__in__the__room.__Let__her__be!__I__won__'__t__let__you__hurt__her__—_

Erik jumped as a hand seemed to flash before his eyes, and a smack as real as anything he'd ever heard seemed to ring in his ears. Only, hadn't heard it. It wasn't in his ears, but in his head.

_Erik_.

The call was keening, youthful, and desperate. The voices were warring in his head, none of them his own, but that one...he knew that one.

_I__won__'__t__let__you__hurt__her._

_ Please, Erik. _

_ It's okay, mother; I don't hate you. _

_ Make it stop, Erik, please. _

Shattering glass. Pain, searing and burning and deeper than skin.

_Better__me__than__Raven._

_ Erik, I can't control it. _

_ She'll kill me. Mother's going to kill me. _

Fear. Terror and betrayal.

_ Erik!_

Erik's feet hit the floor before he even registered what they were doing. Grappling on some track pants and a t-shirt, he ran out the door. Charles's room was just down the hall, and his bare feet propelled him across the wooden floor impossibly fast.

He burst through the door to find the room immersed in darkness, but a quick flick of the lights remedied the issue. The room was bathed in light, but Erik's eyes fell to only one thing.

Lying in the center of the four-post bed was Erik's young lover, tangled in the sheets in such a way that it was hard to tell where he ended and the burgundy fabric began. Even from where he was standing, Erik could see him twisting in his sleep. Soft, distressed noises broke from his throat, but no words sounded from his lips.

They didn't have to.

_ Hitting, kicking...blood everywhere...don't know how much more I can take. _

It wasn't the words that alarmed him the most, but the feelings. Twinges of phantom pain rose everywhere, too sharp to be tickles and too real to be figments of his imagination. The physical wasn't the worst, though; the emotions were horrifying. Fear, pure and unbridled clenched Erik's own heart in a cold vice, and he now knew where it was coming from.

"Charles," he breathed, sprinting over to the bed. "Charles, wake up. It's a nightmare." But Charles wasn't waking up, and as Erik seated himself on the side of the bed next to his twisting body, Charles didn't show any signs of waking.

_Pain...let__Raven__be__safe.__Better__me.__Always__better__me._

The voice was that of a child, but Erik knew it now. It was Charles, only younger. His desperation was growing, sweat breaking out across his brow. Erik needed to wake him up; he needed to put an end to the torment that was plaguing his young lover. "Charles!" he shouted, hoping his raised voice would do something to wake him.

_She__'__s__coming...please__don__'__t__let__her__find__me..._

"Charles, wake up!" When volume didn't work, Erik resorted to physical means. Grabbing hold of Charles's arms, he shook him once, sharply. At first, he didn't think that worked either, but then, with a panicked, strangled gasp, Charles lurched forward.

It was all Erik could do to catch Charles before the younger man bolted from the bed altogether, and he wrapped both his arms around him to hold him in his place on the bed.

"Charles, you're all right," Erik told him. For some reason, Charles was fighting against him; it was like he wasn't quite awake yet, still in the grips of whatever terror had been assaulting his subconscious. Whatever it was, it had Charles kicking his legs in the tangled sheets trying to push himself back, and he pushed against Erik's chest trying to break his hold.

"She's coming," Charles choked out, his voice desperate and almost manic. His wide eyes were fixed on the door as if he were expecting death itself to walk through those doors any moment. "Please, she's coming! You have to let me go."

He was still partly dreaming, Erik realized. Whatever he'd been afraid was coming in his nightmares – his mother, if Erik wasn't mistaken – seemed to remain a very real terror even now that he was awake. Frowning, Erik pulled Charles firmly to his chest, cradling Charles's head against his shoulder. "Shh, Charles, there's nothing coming," he assured him. As he spoke, he rocked him gently and held him firm even as he continued to try to push away. "You're safe...I've got you."

Charles didn't seem to hear him, though, or else his fears were too real for anything else to register. "No more," he whimpered. "I can't...please!"

Each plea felt like an individual knife to Erik's heart. It didn't matter that it was a nightmare; he knew better than anyone that nightmares could be just as painful as reality. Sometimes even more so. He just didn't understand what Charles's nightmares were...Charles had never said anything.

He needed to wake him up, to get him back to his senses, so he loosed his hold on Charles's middle in favor of grabbing his shoulders. "Look at—Charles, I need you to look at me, all right?" When Charles made no move to do it, he took the initiative and moved a hand to cup the back of Charles's head, holding it in place. Finally, those wide eyes were forced to settle on him. Erik forced a reassuring smile. "There you are, Charles. See, you're all right. It's just me."

Only then did Charles seem to finally come to his senses. Slowly, his panicked gaze came into focus and his struggled stopped. "Erik," he whispered, and Erik knew the voice as the constant plea that had echoed in his head between the child's cry for mercy. "Erik, I—"

Erik could see the apology forming on his lips and silenced it, pulling Charles back against his chest in a firm, _loving_ embrace. "I know, my friend...I'm here," he soothed, stroking his hand softly through Charles's hair before bringing it to rest on the back of his neck. Only...when he let his palm rest against the back of Charles's neck, he found something alarming there.

Charles was burning up.

He sat back, not bothering to explain as he pressed the back of his hand to Charles's brow. Sure enough, the heat radiating there was just as stark as he'd thought. He sighed, frowning concernedly. "You've gotten yourself sick again," he observed, more sympathetic than exasperated. Perhaps that might explain the nightmares – he'd simply run himself down past his shields.

He hadn't seemed quite this bad when he'd left him that afternoon, though. Perhaps something had happened during his talk with Moira that had pushed him over the edge; Erik didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care. All that mattered was that something was the matter with his psychic, and that he was going to do something about it.

As it were, though, _Charles_ was the one to make the first move. "Excuse me," he muttered softly, sliding forward to slip his legs over the side of the bed.

Erik caught him, though. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Just...going to wash..." Charles's voice sounded absent, but Erik was willing to let that go. He wasn't too happy about it, but he sat back and let Charles make his way to the bathroom.

Only, he didn't quite make it all the way to his goal. Actually, he didn't make it more than a couple of steps before his legs seemed to give out from beneath him and he collapsed like a ragdoll to the floor. A surprised yelp broke from his lips, about the time a curse broke from Erik's.

The latter of the two threw himself off the bed in an instant, dropping to his knees next to Charles. The younger man had curled himself into a ball on the floor, apparently content not to try moving. Erik, on the other hand, couldn't bear to see him lying there, and quickly slipped an arm under him and lifted him up to cradle him against his chest. "Damn it, Charles," he hissed, but concern trumped fury in his tone as he stroked a hand over Charles's flushed cheek.

He would hold off on that until it became absolutely necessary – _if_ it became absolutely necessary, which he hoped it would not. he didn't see how it could, but then again, he didn't quite understand how it could've gotten as bad as it was. Migraines were one thing; collapsing from fevers didn't have quite the correlation to his powers.

So, he would start with the basics. "Let's get you out of the floor, then," he said. "Can you stand?"

Charles nodded, but his hesitation didn't go unnoticed. The gesture itself was shaky at best, even. But Charles was a big boy, and if he said he could manage, Erik would at least let him try.

Rising, he offered Charles a hand. After all, just because he would let Charles try didn't mean he would make him try by himself. Charles accepted the hand gratefully, and Erik hoisted him to his feet.

Though he pitched a little when he made it vertical, Charles managed to stay upright this time, if only by holding firmly to the hand Erik kept in his grasp.

"Thank you," he said quietly and, Erik noticed, a little breathlessly. That a man in as good shape as Charles could be winded by so simple an act as standing only served to worry Erik's nerves further. He chose not to comment, though, and instead helped Charles back to bed.

They were silent for a long moment after that, Charles watching Erik with bleary but focused eyes and Erik sitting at his feet returning the gaze with near-brutal scrutiny.

Finally, though, "I apologize, my friend, but I must ask...what are you doing here?"

Erik narrowed his eyes at that, not so much angrily as confusedly, though on Erik, the expressions looked similar. "You called to me," Erik said, and when Charles gained his own look of puzzlement, he frowned. "My name...I heard you calling it..." He tapped the side of his head to hopefully convey what he meant by "heard."

Charles knotted his brows; he looked almost upset. "I'm sorry, Erik," he said. "I didn't mean—."

Erik held up a hand. "You know my sentiments on apologies," he said. "Especially unnecessary ones. I seem to recall a certain charmingly confounding psychic finding his way to my room when my own mind erred. Consider us even, then." Only, Erik still didn't think they were even. Charles had helped him that night and so many others; so far, he hadn't even managed to figure out what it was about Charles that needed helping.

He did know about the fever, though, so he'd see to that while he figured out the rest. He'd gotten him up into bed, which was as good a start as any. "Be a good boy and stay here, all right?" It wasn't really a question, and after a quick kiss to Charles's feverish brow, he rose to get a cool cloth from the bathroom.

When he returned, Charles was still sitting up just as he'd left him, but it seemed to only be by sheer force of will. He seemed to compose himself a little when Erik resumed his place on the side of the bed. "Please, Erik, that's not necessary," he protested, leaning back as Erik reached for him with the wash cloth.

Erik raised an eyebrow and then sat back, an amused sort of quirk to his lips. He dropped the rag in Charles's hand. "Of course it isn't, Charles. You're a big boy."

As Erik straightened, a brief expression of distress flashed across Charles's face. "Where are you going?" he asked. To his credit, he almost managed to sound nonchalant. Almost.

Erik, who had made it around the foot of the bed, paused. "I'm not going anywhere," he explained, and then turned back to his task, pulling out and rifling through one of the drawers in Charles's dresser. "I'm just getting you a dry shirt. As lovely as you are all flushed and sweaty, I think you might be more comfortable with clothing that doesn't stick to you."

Erik fished out a light grey t-shirt, not unlike the one Charles was presently wearing, just in time to see the red that had nothing to do with the fever add to that already coloring his cheeks. "Thank you," Charles said, his eyes cast to the plaid pattern of his blue sleep trousers.

At that, Erik couldn't help frowning as he made his way back to the side of the bed. With a single finger hooked beneath Charles's chin, he guided the younger man's gaze up to meet his own. "If you really want to thank me, don't let this happen again."

The moment Charles's face settled, Erik knew he'd misunderstood him. "I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow; you can sleep undisturbed."

"That's not what I meant, Charles," Erik replied firmly. "I don't fault you for being sick, though I think you could've taken steps to avoid it. What I do fault you for is not coming to me. You were sick earlier; you should have said so."

"There was no reason to worry the children."

"They don't have to know." Erik leaned in closer, his gray eyes boring into Charles's blue. "But I do."

He let the words sink in, until Charles finally gave a soft smile. "Of course," he said. "It won't happen again...Thank you, Erik."

Rather than a verbal acknowledgement, Erik responded by letting his hand fall from Charles's chin to his hips by the hem of his shirt. "Let's get this off you, then," he said.

Though his face didn't change, and he said absolutely nothing to indicate a cause, Charles's demeanor changed in an instant. "I can manage, Erik, thank you." This "thank you" was different from the last one – colder, more clipped. Erik saw it for what it was: a dismissal.

Charles wouldn't be rid of him so easily.

"Strange time for modesty, Charles, or have you forgotten that I've seen far more of you than your bare chest?"

It was a try sigh of just how off-kilter Charles was that he didn't even avert his eyes at the debauched comment. Instead, his expression took on a certain exhausted despondency. "Erik, I don't feel like arguing right now. Please, just go back to bed. I'll be fine."

The request might have caught Erik off guard, but the gears in his head were turning far too quickly to be caught by such a thing. The pieces were falling into place: Charles's discomfort, his eagerness to get Erik out of the room...

"You're hiding something," he observed. His tone wasn't accusatory; it didn't have to be. "Well? What is it, Charles?"

Charles's eyes were hard, but pleading. "Erik, I beg you to please go. To. Your. Room."

"I'm not one of your children; I won't be sent to my room like one of them." Erik sat the shirt on the nightstand. "And truly, Charles, I don't care if you won't tell me. I'm no fool. Now, I will ask you once, nicely: please take off your shirt."

Of course, Charles didn't submit. In all honesty, Erik hadn't thought that he would; it just seemed like good form to give him the chance.

In an instant, Charles started to stand, presumably to give himself more presence than he had slouching like an invalid.

Erik didn't care why he was standing, though. Charles had his one chance, and Erik wasn't one for empty threats. With speed unhindered by fever or some other mysterious malady (unlike Charles), Erik leapt forward and threw his arms around his lover's hips.

Charles let out a yelp as soon as he grabbed him, but Erik forced himself to ignore it, dragging Charles back down. With one hand on his lover's chest, he held his back to the bed while with the other, he grabbed the hem of Charles's shirt. It was difficult, with the way Charles was thrashing against him, but he managed to get it up over his head.

When he finally sat back and got a look at him, Erik felt his heart sink into his gut. Charles had lost weight – not too much, but the way his chest heaved made his ribs show through the layers of lithe muscle. Worse still was the massive bruise gathered around his right shoulder, where the joint was swollen enough to make Erik think that it might have been dislocated at one point.

"Charles...What have you done to yourself?" Erik breathed. Even though he knew something else had done these things, that bruise had to be nearly a week old to turn that color of yellow green. For it to still be as swollen as it was, he must've hurt it again at some point.

And he hadn't said a word.

For his part, Charles seemed torn between being incredibly angry and incredibly hurt. Moisture welled in his eyes but didn't spill, and his eyes refused to rise from their match with the bedspread. "I'm sorry, Erik...I—"

"You what, Charles?" Erik demanded, rising angrily. "You didn't mean to hide this from me? Or you didn't mean for me to find out about it? You're a damned hypocrite!"

Just as soon as his temper rose, though, it subsided when Charles flinched. The younger man dropped his head into his hands, his jaw clenched tightly. It occurred to Erik that with his shields the way they were, everything that went on in Erik's head probably beat inside Charles's too. As angry as he was, the last thing he wanted was to cause Charles any more pain.

He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm his mind the way Charles always told him to. He hadn't realized before that the request might have been just as much for Charles's sake as his own, but recent events put everything in a new light.

Steeling his face, he sat down on the bed and dipped his head until he could look Charles in the eyes. "Charles, if ever there were a time to be honest with me, this is it," he said slowly and deliberately. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Charles opened his mouth immediately to reply, but Erik pressed a finger to his lips.

"Think before you answer me, Charles, because if you lie, I will not be so forgiving." And he meant it. As much as he loved this man – _because_ he loved this man – the thought of his lies hurt more than Erik had ever thought. He'd never been so worried for another human being in his life. "Please, Charles…you told me I could trust you. I need you to trust me, now."

Charles stayed silent for a long moment, even after Erik dropped his hand to Charles's uninjured shoulder. His blue eyes were swimming with tears that seemed to Erik to be a mix of many things: fear, pain, shame…. Finally, though, he spoke. "My leg," he muttered. His hands went to grasp at his left knee, fisting in the cloth of his trousers. His head bowed so that his hair fell over his face, but still, Erik could see the anguish. "Erik, I'm so sorry…I just couldn't…Everything's so strained as it is…we couldn't afford any setbacks."

He looked so downtrodden, so utterly _broken_…Erik did the only thing he could: he pulled his ailing, miserable lover into his arms and held him. With Charles's head cradled against his shoulder, he pressed his lips to the side of his head in soft, reassuring kisses, whispering, "You gorgeous, brilliant fool. How could you be a setback, when you singlehandedly keep us all moving forward? When you're the only thing that makes all of this possible? I would have stopped the world for you, Charles, if only you had asked…you're no setback. Why didn't you tell me?"

_You__I__wanted__to__worry__least__of__all._

"You worry me now, Charles. You terrify me." He held him tighter, burying his face in Charles's soft, damp locks. "But I don't care. I would rather be scared than sheltered; you don't have to protect me – just _trust_ me."

Charles's shoulders shook around muted sobs, and Erik could feel moisture seeping through the shoulder of his t-shirt. "I do trust you," Charles protested weakly. "But I know you, too. I know what you seek and why you seek it, and I couldn't bear to hold you back."

At that, Erik pushed Charles away, holding firmly to the shoulder that wasn't bruised as he stared Charles down. "I beg of you, Charles," he began, his own voice wavering slightly as he took Charles's hand in his own, "hold me back."

That, at long last, brought a little of the light back to Charles's eyes. He even smiled a bit, though it faltered when he tried shifting. His hand fell back to his leg; Erik imagined he might've jarred it when he'd tried to move. It reminded him that there was still one injury that he'd yet to see.

"Let me look at it," he said, sliding down the bed enough to pull Charles's leg across his lap. Gently, carefully, he pulled the leg of Charles's sleep trousers up, revealing at first minor scratches on pale skin; and eventually, around his knee, a large white bandage that stretched all the way up to his mid-thigh. Erik wasn't sure whether to be pleased that Charles had taken time to tend to it, or alarmed that it had merited such tending. Touching his fingertips to the edge of the bandage, he asked, "May I?"

"Promise me first you won't be angry...lecture me later if you wish, but I don't think I'm up to it tonight."

The answer didn't exactly soothe Erik's nerves, but all the same, he nodded. "No lectures," he agreed. But silently, he added to himself that that was the only thing he would reserve doing. If Charles really did need medical attention, as he was starting to suspect he might, he would take him to the hospital no matter what Charles was up to that night.

With deft, but careful fingers, Erik started to unwrap the bandages from around Charles's knee. As he reached the end of the bandages, though, mass that he'd first attributed to the white cloth was revealed to be swelling that had risen all about Charles's knee. Deep red gashes split the swollen skin in lines, and there was no doubt in Erik's mind that he had found the source of the fever: the wounds were infected, clearly, and badly enough that he could hardly believe Charles had let it get this bad, even with his martyr complex.

"For God's sake, Charles…what have you done to yourself?" he whispered, laying the balled-up bandage to the side. "How did this happen?"

"In Russia," Charles answered softly. "One of the soldiers…he grabbed at me as I went past, and some of the barbed wire got tangled around my leg…I was in such a hurry, I tripped…"

Erik had half a mind to demand why Charles hadn't said anything, but he had promised no lectures. Besides that, he couldn't help feeling…maybe this was his fault as well. He hadn't precisely made it easy for Charles to speak to him. He'd been so fixated on Emma and what was going on with Shaw that he had ignored his best friend and lover entirely, and that thought pained him greatly. It didn't help that he had wielded the barbed wire that injured Charles so.

He was almost afraid to ask about the shoulder, but he made himself. "And this?" he asked, gesturing, but not quite touching, the bruises on Charles's shoulder. "Did you hurt it in the fall?"

"No, Erik…Miss Frost caught me off guard is all. It isn't as bad as it looks."

"Somehow, I doubt that, but you'll let me be the judge." As he spoke, he rose to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom. Charles kept one in every room that had occupants, and it was well-stocked enough to be heavy in Erik's hand as he returned to the bedroom. "I apologize, my friend," he said as he pulled out the appropriate supplies, "but you're really not going to enjoy this."


	10. Hooke's Law of Elasticity

_Hooke's Law of Elasticity: the extension of a spring is in direct proportion with the load applied to it._

It was mid-afternoon before Charles started to wake up. Erik imagined he had Hank to thank for it. Once he'd realized he was out of his depth with Charles – stitches, he could handle, but Charles needed a doctor, and a doctor Erik was not – he'd woken the young scientist and gotten him up to get a look at Charles.

Charles, of course, hadn't been too happy about it, especially when Hank suggested giving him a nice cocktail of painkillers and sedatives to help him sleep while he patched him up. As per usual, the psychic had insisted that drugs muddled his mind, and that he would be fine with just some Tylenol, thank you very much.

One had only to look, though, at his pale, shaking hands and the sweat beading lightly on his brow to know that he needed some relief before he blacked out anyway. Between Hank and Erik (and probably exhaustion on Charles's part), they'd managed to wear the man down, and by the time Hank started actually checking and tending his wounds, Charles was out cold.

That had been nearly twelve hours ago, and Charles had been sleeping ever since. Recently, though, he'd started to stir a little bit. The drugs were starting to wear off, and with them, Charles's mind was starting to roar back to life.

His shields…were a different story.

It started with little flashes…just the occasional flicker of something that would catch Erik's attention and then be gone before he could sort it out. As Charles grew more restless, though, the flashes grew more vivid, and longer until it seemed to Erik they were more dreams than flashes, and he was sitting front row to them. He didn't want to be, though. Each passing sliver was worse than the last, filled with things Erik didn't dare wondering why Charles was dreaming about.

Bad as all of them were, the last one was the worst. It caught him off guard, forcing all the air out of his lungs like a blow to the gut until he had to grab the doorframe he'd just been coming through to steady himself.

_"__I__hate__you!__" _

_ The pain at the three words was unimaginable. It wasn't physical, but deeper than that, and somehow all the worse for it. Not that it mattered; the physical pain came soon enough. _

_ She was standing over him, looming over him with a bottle of some nameless drink in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. Closer inspection through the wrinkles her merciless grip was inflicting revealed a drawing. A picture, drawn in almost perfect detail. _

_ But its drawer was so small. Strangely small. Charles was always a small child, reedy just as he was in adulthood. Perhaps it came from too little food, or the constant bombardment of emotions that crippled his appetite into nausea and forced all thoughts of hunger from his over-abused mind. _

_ "You little monster! Why? Why do you torture me?" she screamed. Her cries were like those of a banshee, shrill and keening. _

_ A snarl of anger. Shattering glass. Pain erupting in his head, and the floor rising up to meet him. It took more effort than that small body could exert to stand, but it did anyway. He did. **Charles** did._

_ "It's okay, mother," he said, as if he was the assailant and not the precious victim. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…" _

_ "Don't you dare look down on me!" _

_ Another crack. The heel of a shoe, because her delicate fists could not adequately convey her fury. The air left his lungs, and he couldn't call it back. Something impeded him – sharp pain. _

_ "Don't you dare pity me! You monster! You've ruined me!" _

_ Each accusation was punctuated by a blow that seemed to shatter the small form. The would became nothing but a collection of small pictures seen through half-closed eyes. A rug, too much like the one that covered the dining room of Westchester. The leg of a chair that seemed all too familiar. A pale face reflected in the jagged pieces of a broken bottle, and gorgeous blue eyes like no others. _

It took everything Erik had to push the images aside. He couldn't bear to see any more of them, now that his fears were confirmed. The small one…it had been Charles. There was no doubt. He wasn't living the nightmare of some other child, wasn't suffering a slip in his shields that allowed some other miserable person's nightmares to slip through and plague his mind.

No, these were Charles's very own demons. These nightmares were Charles's and his alone.

He could still feel them niggling on the very edges of his consciousness as he crossed the room to Charles's bed. Flashes of a small child superimposed themselves briefly over the tossing form of the grown man, swathed in blankets and quilts that even now looked too big for him.

Sitting – or, perhaps, collapsing – onto the side of the bed next to him, he laid his hand across his deeply-lined brow, smoothing back some of Charles's sleep-tousled hair. As gently as he dared, he hooked an arm behind his back and lifted his limp torso up off the bed so that he could slide in under it and pull Charles carefully into his lap. He cradled him there, one arm supporting his neck while he stroked his fingers across Charles's flushed cheeks. His fever had yet to break, but it was getting better.

"It's only a nightmare, Charles…wake up."

_Another__flash.__ "__You__'__re__a__monster!__"_

Erik shook his head, trying to clear the image of that madman he now knew to be Charles's mother from it. He couldn't help feeling it, this pain. _Charles__'__s_ pain, both physical and mental. It was tearing at him.

Charles didn't seem to be hearing him, though. He seemed to be trapped inside his own head. So, he tried a different approach.

_Charles__…__it__'__s__all__right.__You__'__re__all__right._ It occurred to him that this was a lot like what Charles had done for him that third night. _I__need__you__to__wake__up,__now.__Just__wake__up._

At first, he thought it hadn't worked. But then, slowly, Charles's eyes began to flicker until finally, those stunning orbs of his were revealed. A few blinks, and Charles seemed to come to his senses, because he immediately tried to sit up.

Erik held him in place with a gentle hand. "Not so fast, my friend. You don't want to be moving just yet."

Charles gave a distracted nod and raised his hand to his temple. "Of course," he said softly, though Erik couldn't help wondering if he just said that to be agreeable. He didn't really look like he was quite together just yet.

_A__flash__of__carpet.__Drops__of__blood__on__his__hand__…__down__his__shirt__…__everywhere.__His__blood._

Erik couldn't help the gasp that broke from his lips, and again, he shook his head to try to clear it. When his attentions refocused, he found Charles looking at him with a mix of mortification and curiosity.

"You saw that…" he began softly, "didn't you?"

"All of it." His voice came out more strained than he'd intended, and he cleared his throat. "I saw all of it." Hopefully, Charles would understand to what he was referring. He hadn't just seen that little slip; he'd seen his whole nightmare. He'd seen it that night, too, though there had been far more troubling issues at hand at that time. Now, perhaps, it was a good time to confront it.

Strangely, Charles gave a soft smile that might've been sheepish if it weren't for the wretchedness swimming in his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Erik," he said. The comment was genuine enough, and it caught Erik off guard. Charles was bedridden and had just woken up from a nightmare that was pretty awful even by Charles's standards – his mother was no Shaw, but this was a different kind of violation – and he was apologizing to _Erik_?

Erik frowned, caressing Charles's cheek lightly. Charles's hand came up to rest on his own as he spoke. "I'm not," Erik said firmly. As an afterthought, he added, "I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner." And he was. He'd spent this whole time thinking Charles had been spoilt in his youth; he'd even made a joke about it when they'd first arrived.

_I__don__'__t__know__how__you__survived__…__living__in__such__hardship__…_ The words echoed in his head like ghosts come back to haunt him. Now he knew why it had taken so long for Charles to smile. Raven's untimely interruption made a little more sense, too.

"Raven never knew," Charles said. A moment later, his mouth set in a frown. "You didn't say that aloud…" It wasn't a question, and Charles didn't wait for Erik to answer. "It's the bloody medications, Erik, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to intrude on your thoughts; they just keep slipping in."

"You're changing the subject," Erik observed, not unkindly.

Charles gave a quite sort of chuckle. "Not much of a subject to discuss in the first place, is it? It is what it is."

"You could've told me." _I__would__'__ve__listened.__I__would__'__ve__understood._

"I know that…but you have your own burdens to bear, my friend. You don't need mine adding to the weight."

_I__don__'__t__mind.__I__'__d__carry__it__all__if__you__'__d__let__me._"You carry my burdens, Charles. Rather hypocritical to deny me the same opportunity."

"Erik, I couldn't possibly—I couldn't ask that of you."

"You don't have to."

Charles watched him for a moment after that. His eyes were searching and confused, but finally, they seemed to find what they were looking for. A certain light settled in them, then. "I knew I was right about you," he said.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Right about what, precisely?"

"Not 'precisely,'" Charles corrected. "Just…you, in general. I knew there was more to you than what you claimed…more than hate and anger. More than pain."

He said it with such wonderment and appreciation that Erik couldn't help smiling in reply. "Yes, well, next time you want to make a point," he began, tracing his thumb along Charles's flushed cheek, "try to do it without nearly killing yourself."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that."

After a moment, Erik decided he ought to get up; so, as carefully as he could, he eased Charles back down onto the bed and started to stand, only to be stopped by a hand around his wrist.

"Can I get you something?" Erik asked. He assumed that to be the reason Charles had stopped him.

Charles's smile took on a slightly teasing, mischievous look that frankly eased more of Erik's worries than such a simple thing should have. "Some company, perhaps?"

As tempting as the offer was, Erik really didn't want to disturb Charles any. He knew his mind wasn't exactly the most peaceful of places, and Charles really didn't need the additional strain. "I was going to go train," he offered by way of excuse.

Excuses, though, rarely worked with Charles, and this time was no exception. "You'll not get much training done falling asleep on your feet. I'd wager you've not slept since I so rudely interrupted you…"

"Last night," Erik supplied helpfully. "Twelve hours ago. I assure you, I've gone far longer without sleep."

"Then I would hate to see you on those occasions, because you look terrible, my friend. Just humor me, yes? I'll sleep better knowing you're here."

Hesitant as Erik was, there was a great deal of sincerity in Charles's words. Besides, he really was tired. He wasn't used to worrying about a person for any length of time, much less twelve straight hours. It had worn on his nerves a lot more than he'd thought it would, and the prospect of settling in next to his lover for an afternoon nap was all too appealing to pass up.

With one last tolerant, "I'm Only Doing This Because I Adore You" smile, Erik walked around to the other side of the bed and slid in beside Charles. He was careful not to jar anything lest Charles's shoulder or leg suffer for it, but once he was in place, Charles managed to curl into his chest anyway.

"Who would've thought the professor liked to cuddle?" he teased gently, but the very moment he finished speaking, he slid his arm around Charles's hips.

"Who would've thought the magnet liked to cuddle?" Charles mimicked softly. His eyes were already closed, and the jest had a drowsy lilt to it.

Erik stole a quick kiss from his joker, and as he closed his own eyes, a single thought floated through his head.

_Only__with__you,__Charles.__Only__with__you._


	11. Le Chatelier's Principle

_Le Chatelier's Principle: If a chemical system at equilibrium experiences a change in concentration, temperature, volume, or partial pressure, then the equilibrium shifts to counteract the imposed change and a new equilibrium is established._

Hank had told Charles that he should probably take it easy for a week after that, and Erik had agreed wholeheartedly.

Charles lasted all of three days.

_And__on__the__third__day__…__,_Erik thought ironically as he watched Charles standing outside talking to Sean. He was apparently explaining what he'd found in the three days of research – because Charles, Erik had decided, was physically incapable of being idle for any length of time – on "Banshee's" gift to the young man. A window had suffered by way of this explanation, and Erik was all too happy to be inside where he didn't have to deal with the ear-splitting shrieks. All the while, it _was_ Charles's first day really getting up and about, and he wasn't keen on letting him out of his sight.

He looked to be doing pretty well, though. He still held his shoulder kind of stiff, but he'd forgone the sling and he was moving the arm itself around pretty well. His leg was a similar story; he couldn't _quite_ conceal the limp, but it was hardly noticeable unless one was actually looking for it.

After the death of the unfortunate window that he and Alex had muscled out the door to the grass for Charles, the young professor seemed content with his lesson. He said a few more words, and with a pat on the ginger's shoulder, he turned back towards the house.

_What__do__you__think?_

The thought slipped into Erik's head easily and with that same warmth. He was proud of his student, and Erik could feel that pride radiating off him just as easily as he could see it in the smile he flashed his way.

_I__think__the__hardware__store__down__the__street__is__going__to__be__seeing__an__increase__in__sales._

As he passed the thought along, Charles reached the door, and Erik was happy to push it open for it and allow him to pass by him inside.

"You're not funny," Charles said. "You think you are, but you're not."

"Then why're you smiling?"

Charles sniffed. "Because it's a lovely day and even you can't spoil my mood."

"I think I should be offended," Erik remarked lightly, holding his hand to his heart as he and Charles made their way into the kitchen. It was nearing lunch time, and whether Charles knew it or not, Erik was determined to make him eat something more substantial than the sandwiches and biscuits he'd been munching on for the past couple of days.

Sitting down in the seat Erik pulled out for him at the table – because he was clearly tired, even if he wouldn't admit it – Charles leaned up and stole a quick kiss. "I think not," he said. "I only say it because I care."

Erik gave a roll of his eyes. "Oh, well that changes _everything_," he said sarcastically, ducking his head in the fridge to hide the grin on his own face.

"I thought it might…can I help you with anything?"

"You can sit there and look pretty. And stop making wise cracks. And stop staring at my ass." He turned and saw Charles looking at him with a skeptical brow raised. He shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I don't mind you staring at my ass."

Clearly, that hadn't been what the eyebrow was for, but Charles laughed all the same. "Ah, and what a fine ass it is."

"Are you talking about my ass, or me in general?"

"Yes."

"What did I say about wise cracks?" Erik asked. Honestly, he didn't mind them either; he was glad Charles was feeling well enough for their repartee. The first day had been kind of pitiful; Charles had mostly just wanted to sleep, and he'd spent that night fighting with the antibiotics Hank had put him on. Then he'd been vested in his research, determined to accomplish _something_ while he was bedridden.

"Use often. Use now."

"Funny."

"I thought so…really, Erik, are you sure I can't help you?"

"Yes, Charles. Believe it or not, I think I can manage one meal."

Charles held up his hands peacefully. "Of course, of course. I have complete faith in your culinary competency." He settled back, then, folding his hands under his chin and watching Erik from behind the table. As Erik started the pasta to boil – in a house wrought with teenagers, pasta was generally a good thing to have on hand, because it could be made _en__masse_ with little risk of spontaneous combustion – Charles's mind seemed to wander off.

It wasn't until Erik was actually straining the noodles that Charles finally spoke on the fruits of his mental wanderings.

With complete seriousness, Charles cocked his head to the side and asked, "Precisely how difficult do you think it would be to procure several plastic manikins?"

The fact that he could say it with a straight face gave Erik just another thing to add to the list of why he loved Charles Xavier.

Of course, two days later gave him something to add to the list of why Charles Xavier frustrated him to no end. He was just getting back from a joy ride in one of those underappreciated beauties in the garage when he spotted something that nearly made him blow a gasket – literally.

As he was pulling into the garage, two figures in grey went whipping past the boot of the car. At first, he thought it was just a couple of the kids out for their runs. But as he was coming out of the garage, walking back towards the mansion, he was passed by them again, and he got a much better look this time. The awkwardly long limbs and bare feet of the first identified the leader as Hank, obviously. He seemed to have increased his lead on the other substantially since the last time Erik had seen them, and it was a few solid seconds before the next passed him.

Of course, the second wasn't going slowly, either. In fact, it was all Erik could do to pick out the wavy black locks that bounced in the wind as he tore past him. By the time he got his mind around it, the figure had already past.

_He__wouldn__'__t_, he thought. But, of course, it occurred to him whom he was referring to, and realized that yes, in fact, he would. "Blast it, Charles!"

The exclamation was equal parts exasperated and angry, and his feet immediately set to pounding in pursuit of the two runners.

They made it back around to the back of the house, near the gardens, but the time Erik caught up to them. Hank was walking off, and Charles seemed to be giving Alex some sort of admonishment. The teenager turned and walked away right as Erik made it over to them, giving Erik a perfect opportunity to give Charles a thorough talking to.

It just so happened that his path of entry put him directly behind Charles, and he'd apparently been rather quiet in his approach, because Charles didn't turn around until he was right behind him. When he did, Charles gave a start, gasping and nearly _jumping_ backwards.

"My God, Erik!" he exclaimed, bowing his head and putting his hand to his chest. After a few quick, deep breaths, he straightened, a smile coming to his face. "Don't do that to me! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Is that so?" Erik asked. "And here I thought you were in top physical condition. Or, at least, you ought to be, running like that."

Suddenly, Charles seemed to realize he was being scolded. Erik couldn't tell if he was blushing, with the flush that was already on his face from the cold wind and his run, but he did have the good grace to avert his eyes. He brought them back up quickly, though. "It's part of Hank's training," he explained. "To get him to utilize his powers rather than fearing and hiding them."

"And to do that, you had to run laps with him around the mansion." Erik wasn't quite content with that explanation. "Just out of curiosity…I wasn't imagining it when Hank told you that you weren't to exert yourself too highly."

"No, you weren't," Charles said coolly. "But if you'll recall with whom I was running. Hank said I would be all right, so long as I stopped if it started to bother me too much. It has been nearly a week. Most of the cuts are healed well enough, and when I'm wearing the brace, I can hardly feel my knee."

"That's called nerve damage, Charles."

Charles scowled. "You know what I meant."

"Yes, I did. And I was pretty sure you knew what I meant when I said I wanted you to take it easy. You know what happens when you push yourself too hard Charles, and I don't know about you, but I would really rather not have a repeat of what happened last time." He stepped closer, using his height advantage over his lover for all it was worth. "You are an amazing human being, but you are not without your limitations. You would do best to remember them."

"And you would do best to remember that I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you." With that, he started to turn.

Erik, however, wasn't content to leave it at that. He grabbed his shoulder – the proper one, the healthy one – and spun him around. "You don't _think_, do you? Damn it, Charles, what good will you be to me or the children or your beloved CIA if you fall apart before we even face Shaw?"

In that instant, Charles's expression became colder than Erik had ever seen it. "If that is where you concerns truly lie, _Erik_, you needn't worry. I fully intend to wait to fall apart until after I'm of no use to any of you."

The ice in his voice as he spoke was matched only by the hurt in his eyes, but before Erik could get a chance to take it back, to tell Charles what he'd really meant, Charles jerked his shoulder from Erik's grasp and strode away.

Charles didn't make it to the house, though, before Moira stuck her head out the window. "Hey!" she called. "The president's about to make his address!"

Moira was waiting for them in the study when they made it inside. Erik had lingered back a few steps from Charles on the way, and by the time he made it inside, Charles had already taken up his seat next to Moira on the sofa.

Frowning, Erik stopped just short of the coffee table. So, he really had upset Charles this time. The younger man didn't even so much as look at him, and all the children lined up behind the sofa were too interested in the television to so much as acknowledge his presence.

"It has been the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile crossing the embargo line that surrounds Cuba as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States," said the television. Or, more accurately, the president _through_ the TV. It was all Erik could do not to snort. What _didn__'__t_ this nation view as an attack, precisely?

Instinctively, he glanced over at Charles to see what his reaction would be, and found himself frustrated by the fact that Charles didn't even glance back. Instead, he exchanged looks with that Moira girl as the television continued, "requiring a full retaliatory response on the Soviet Union."

"That's where we're going to find Shaw," Erik said.

"How do you know?"

Erik was about to explain, but Charles beat him to it. "Two superpowers facing off and he wants to start World War III…he won't leave anything to chance."

With a smirk, Erik said, "So much for diplomacy." Things were going to get messy. "I suggest you all get a good night's sleep." Let them have their television, then; he knew how this was going to end, so he took his leave.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, though, Erik found himself looking for company of some sort. The day's events continued to haunt him…what he'd said to Charles, more than anything. How could he have been so callous? This wasn't even Charles's war to fight – what did he have to gain? For Moira and the CIA, it was national security. For Erik, it was revenge. For Raven and Hank and even Alex and Sean, it was about acceptance. Charles had fit into society, had made a place for himself, and he had none of those reasons behind him to fight. And yet he fought…he'd sacrificed more than any of them to fight the war that wasn't his to fight, and Erik had turned around and made him feel like nothing more than a tool to be used and thrown away. How terrible was he, to have said those things to someone that had only ever helped him? In truth, Erik loved Charles. More than anything, he loved him, and to know that the hurt that he'd seen in Charles's eyes had been because of him was torture in the purest and keenest since Erik had ever experienced.

He had to make things right, then. Things could go many ways tomorrow, and he had to set things right with Charles before that time. He had to make him see…Charles wasn't a tool to him. He wasn't his lab rat or his leader or even his brother in arms.

Charles was his heart, and if, by some chance, things turned out all right tomorrow, he would prove it to him.

As it was, it seemed to him that the best thing to do was apologize. It was with that thought in mind that he found himself knocking on the door to the library. He'd already checked by Charles's room, and the smell of fire in the fireplace told him that someone was occupying the classic old room. Sure enough, a quick peek inside through the arched doorway revealed to him a head of curly hair showing over the back of one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

"Come in," came Charles's voice, and Erik did so. Slowly, he walked around Charles's chair to find him sitting in front of a chessboard, his hands folded beneath his chin. None of the pieces had moved, but it was clear there was some measure of calculation going on in that brilliant mind of Charles's.

He paused just beside the other chair, his hand resting on its back. Unsure of how to really begin, he finally just settled on asking, "May I join you?"

Charles looked up, and Erik had to say he was curious to see the surprised look that donned on Charles's face. Had Charles really been so deep in thought he hadn't even known Erik was coming? And moreover, did Charles really not think that Erik would see him before the night was over, given what tomorrow would inevitably bring?

"Of course," Charles said finally, and Erik, after pouring himself a glass of champagne from the bottle Charles had already apparently opened, took the seat across from him. Folding one long leg across the other, he watched as Charles pushed a piece across the board without a word.

After a moment, Erik did the same, and for a long time thereafter, things proceeded like that. Each man moved his pieces without a word, and they were nearly halfway into the game before Charles finally did speak.

"Cuba," he said softly, dropping his hand from his chin to move another piece across the board. "Russia…America…There's no difference. Shaw's declared war on mankind – on all of us. He has to be stopped." As he spoke, he pushed himself back in his chair, crossing his legs. It was far more like his usual posture, far more relaxed as compared to the huddled way he'd sat the better part of the game.

Erik looked up. He knew the words for what they were – an olive branch, a concession – but as much as he would've liked to accept it, there were terms that Charles had to understand. "I'm not going to stop Shaw," he said. "I'm going t' kill him." When Charles didn't respond immediately, Erik leaned forward to move one of his own pieces across the board. "Do you have it in you to allow that?" At that, he glanced up at Charles, leaning back in his seat so he could more thoroughly study his expression.

Charles did nothing for a moment, but then an incredulous sort of laugh broke from his lips. He leaned forward again, nearly doubling over his knees and folding his hands in front of him. Resuming his guarded stance…clearly, Erik's words had upset him, though he wasn't inclined to express it.

It still bothered Erik to see it. "You've known all along why I was here, Charles," he tried to reason, but Charles wouldn't even look up at him. He seemed to be focusing intently on the chess board, his brows knotted deeply. "But things have changed." _You__'__ve__changed__them._"What started as a covert mission…tomorrow, mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us…they won't differentiate." That got Charles's attention. "They'll fear us. And that fear will turn to hatred."

"Not if we stop a war," Charles argued, peering up at Erik through his knotted brows. "Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so."

"Would they do the same for us?" _Would__they__do__the__same__for__you?_ Charles had already risked his life, and he had come too close to paying for that risk. But he was more than human – _better_ – and Erik knew in his heart that all those people Charles so avidly defended…they weren't so noble.

Charles straightened a little. "We have it in us to be the better men," he said.

"We already _are_. We're the next stage of human evolution—" Charles started to protest, but Erik raised his voice and spoke over him, "—you said it yourself!"

"No, no—" Charles let out a frustrated sigh and took a drink from his scotch.

Erik couldn't believe it. How could Charles continue to argue with him with the truth so blaringly obvious and right in front of him. "Are you really so naïve as to think that they won't battle their own extinction?" he asked. Once again, Charles averted his eyes down to the chess board. He'd struck a chord, then. "Or is it arrogance?"

Charles looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"After tomorrow, they're going to turn on us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira."

"And you believe they're all like Shaw," Charles retorted. He was silent for a moment after that, but then he leaned forward, his blue eyes boring into Erik's own grey. "Listen to me very carefully, my friend." As he spoke, his voice wavered ever so slightly, but through the slow, measured tone, it lost none of its severity. "Killing Shaw will not bring you peace."

Peace…that was what Charles thought he wanted? Peace? Where was peace when the Nazis invaded his home and shipped him and his kin away to die in concentration camps? Where was peace when Shaw tortured him and killed his mother? And for that matter, where was _peace_ when Charles's vicious mother was beating her brilliant, innocent child in her drunken rages? So far as Erik was concerned, humans could never redeem themselves for that. They could never escape the taint of their very existence, and they would _always_ be monsters to haunt their victims.

He matched Charles's gaze evenly as he divulged the one truth that Charles needed to hear the most. "Peace," he said, "was never an option."

Erik had only just shed his evening clothes when he heard an almost violent rapping at his bedroom door. At first, he thought it might be Raven. After he'd sent her on her way – what _had_ she been thinking, displaying herself on his bed like some sort of prize? – he'd rather thought she might be a good little girl and go back to bed. He admired her spirit, don't get him wrong, but she _really_ needed to sort through some of those issues of his.

Preferably while _not_ in his bedroom.

"Don't you have someone else to harass?" he called as he stepped into his flannel sleep trousers.

The voice that called back, however, was not the one he expected. "Damn it, Erik, open this door _now!_"

Shock alone made Erik blink for a moment, one leg still half-through the leg of his trousers. What on earth was Charles doing having a coronary outside his bedroom, and for that matter, wince when did Charles shout curses? Sure, he did curse, but even that was rare at best, and for him to be yelling….

Of course, Erik's first thought was that he'd finally gotten to him. Charles had been quiet after Erik's words in the study, and Erik had thought it best he let himself out. Now, though, nearly two hours later by his clock, it seemed Charles wasn't quite through with him.

Pulling up his trousers as he went, Erik was just tying the drawstring when he opened the door to reveal a very…flustered-looking Charles. His cheeks were flushed beet red, and his hair was tousled in the way it only got when he'd run his hands through it roughly and frequently.

Before Erik could even utter a greeting – or beg for his life, as might've been perhaps more apropos – Charles pushed past him inside and shut the door. Instantly, he was upon him, jamming his finger into Erik's bare chest like his own personal missile.

"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, his voice higher in both pitch and volume than Erik thought he'd ever heard.

Erik was taken aback. This was a side of Charles he'd never seen, and frankly, he wasn't sure he liked it. As funny as it was to see Charles lose control of his temper, he got the feeling some line had been crossed that shouldn't have been. "What do you mean, 'What did I do?'"

"You know precisely what I mean!" Charles snapped in response.

Up to that point, Erik had been backing away from Charles's advance into his room, but now, he stopped. In turn, Charles had no choice but to stop as well, or else barge straight into Erik. "No, Charles," Erik said firmly, "I'm afraid I don't. Now, if you'd be so kind as to tell me what my offense is before you send me to the gallows for it, I'd be much obliged."

"Raven!" Charles exclaimed.

"What about her?" He was suspicious, now. Had Raven told him that Erik did something to her? He'd kissed her, but that hadn't been purely illustrative – to make a point.

At the question, though, Charles seemed to lose some of his gusto. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, and then opened it again like a fish out of water, before closing it and turning away for a moment. His fist clenched at his side, though, and he turned back again. "What the hell did you tell her?"

"About what, Charles? What are you talking about?"

"She—I…in the kitchen. I was in the kitchen getting a drink, and she—God, Erik, I don't know what you told her, but you'd best take it back immediately!" He spoke so quickly Erik had a hard time figuring out what he was saying, and even then, he was still utterly in the dark.

"Would you just tell me what happened?"

"She was naked!" Charles snapped. "I was just minding my own business, and she just _waltzed_ right in wearing nothing but a glower." He shuddered, running a hand through his mussed-up hair, and Erik noticed he paled considerably. "God…I saw everything."

"That's what this is about?" Erik deadpanned. "Your sister flashed you, and so automatically you come to the conclusion that I'm at fault?" Granted, he was, but he was curious as to how Charles arrived at the conclusion himself.

"You're the one that's always telling her not to hide and not to be ashamed of her mutation. That she should wear it proudly."

"As she should."

"Shut up, Erik. I'm not finished!"

Erik wisely shut up, and instead sat down on the bed, content to watch Charles as he paced back and forth.

"I thought she'd be happy…Hank told me he found a cure. I mentioned it, though, and she just got angry. I thought she wanted it – she'd never said otherwise, and you know I won't read her. How was I supposed to know she didn't want to look normal?"

Erik couldn't help cutting in there, though. "Who's to say what looks normal, Charles? If her natural form offends you so—"

"It doesn't!" Charles shouted. "I don't _care_ what she looks like. She's my bloody sister, Erik, and I love her, but blue or white or green or purple, I'm _not__supposed__to__see__her__naked_!" Another shudder rippled through him and he made a distressed groaning sound as he brought his palms up to press against his eyes. Between what he'd said and how he was acting, finally, Erik couldn't help laughing. "It's not funny!" he said indignantly.

"On the contrary, my friend, it is. Quite. But you're right; I did have a talk with her, though in my defense, she seems to have taken it quite a bit farther than I intended."

"I knew it was your fault."

Though he was being scolded, Erik stood and smiled, walking over and wrapping his arms around his lover's shoulders and pulling him back into him. Mercifully, Charles didn't recoil when he leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. "She'll get over it," he assured him. "She's young and fickle. Give her time."

"And in the meantime? Between you and her, it's rather starting to feel like I'm as much the bad guy as Shaw."

The comment surprised Erik, caught him off guard. Was that really what Charles thought? But then…he guessed it made sense. He knew he'd been digging at Charles a lot for his beliefs lately, condemning him for his confidence in humans. And he knew Raven had been less than kind to him in regards to her looks. He just hadn't thought….

"Oh, Charles," he sighed, pulling him more firmly to his chest. "That isn't the way of things. I don't fault you for your kindness, and I'm sure Raven, for all her fits and tempers, knows that you have her best interests at heart."

"I'm not so sure I believe that," Charles said softly as he started to pull away.

"No you don't." Rather than letting him go, Erik held onto him, walking him backwards until at last he made him sit down on the bed. With him firmly in place, Erik knelt down in front of him and pressed a hand to his cheek. "Believe it, Charles. You are no one's antagonist; you've done more for any of us than we could ever have the right to ask of you, and still you do more." As he spoke, he rose, his hand still caressing Charles's soft skin. "You could never be like Shaw. Never in your heart, and never in my eyes, because I hate Shaw…and I love you." He let the words sink in for a moment, and then leaned forward to capture Charles's lightly-parted lips in a kiss.

And as he lay Charles down on the bed, reveling in the taste of his lips and the feel of his body against his, he couldn't help thinking maybe, with Charles by his side, peace was an option after all.


	12. Lenz's Law

_Lenz's Law: An induced electromotive force always gives rise to a current whose magnetic field opposes the original change in magnetic flux._

Part of Erik didn't want to get up the next morning. With Charles's small form wrapped snugly in his arms and the warm covers keeping the cool morning air from their bare bodies, he was quite content to lie there.

The other part, though, knew that today was the day. It seemed to have a matching part in Charles, because before the sun had even risen, they were both up and dressed.

Of course, it took considerably _longer_ to get the kids that way. They got them all, though, save one, but Charles said that Hank would probably be in his lab putting some finishing touches on things.

As they reached the door, though, Charles stopped. There was a note which Charles plucked from the door after peculiarly short time – apparently, speed-reading was a latent mutation of Charles's – before he pushed the double doors open.

He froze the moment he stepped through them, and Erik didn't blame him The destruction those doors gave way to was enough to stop anyone short. Not for long, though. With the determined set of his shoulders, Charles continued on into the room, leaving Erik to follow with the kids and Moira at a far slower pace.

He thought about cautioning Charles as he made his way in, both to watch his step and to make sure there wasn't the culprit still lurking about the place. Charles was smart, though, and careful, so Erik imagined he probably already knew precisely how many people were in the room, right down to the last fly on the wall. As for watching his step, well Charles always did have a certain grace, and he showed it now, weaving through the mess without breaking his long, purposeful strides. He did glance back once, to stare at a massive tank that had been overturned, but even that didn't slow him from his mission.

Erik, on the other hand, stopped right about at the tank and asked, "What the hell happened here?" Because of all of them, he supposed Charles was the most likely to know, and frankly, this was not a good way to start the morning.

Charles looked back at him, a very heavy look on his face, but said nothing. He just kept right on, all the way over to a massive metal crate in the very back of the room. The fact that it was the size of a refrigerator didn't even seem to give Charles pause, though, and he pushed the lid of the crate open and peered inside.

It took a moment for the rest of them to catch up, and Erik took his place to Charles's right, looking down into the box. "Hank has been busy," he observed.

As was becoming customary, Alex was the next to put in his two cents. "Do we really have to wear these?"

"As none of us mutated to endure extreme g-force or being riddled by bullets, I suggest we suit up," was Charles's response, and with a slam, he pulled the lid down.

Arriving at the hangar, Erik still wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss Hank or kill him. He'd certainly worn far more uncomfortable things in his lifetime – a wet suit, for instance – but he was also still not particularly fond of the way the leather clung to his legs and shoulders.

On Charles, however, he found that to be one of its better attributes. It hugged the professor's form better than any of those tweed suits he so loved ever did, and that alone was nearly enough to make Erik sing the suits' praises.

The only question was that he wasn't quite sure where Hank was to congratulate him on a good show well-done. If he had to take a guess, though, he'd say Charles knew exactly where he was.

He just wasn't telling.

"Where's Hank?" Raven asked. It had to be the fifth time the question had come up, but it seemed particularly relevant now that they were staring at the massive beast of a plane that was to be their ride.

Erik wasn't expecting an answer this time, either. Charles had a tendency to tell people what they needed to know precisely when they needed to know it, and not a moment sooner, which meant it would probably come entirely out of left field when the information did come to light.

Actually, he wasn't off on that account. It did come completely out of left field. It just didn't come from Charles.

"I'm here." Erik glanced over to see an odd-looking silhouette moving towards them from the other side of the ship.

He meant to look at Charles, but caught Alex's gaze and found himself relieved to see that at least someone was as confused as he was.

Charles seemed at least a little more in the know than the rest of them, and asked, "Hank?" Though he did sound a little perplexed himself.

Confusion turned to shock as the silhouette slowly began to take a more definite shape, revealing a massive blue-furred…thing wearing glasses that looked oddly like Hank's and a suit that matched their own. "It didn't attack the cells," the blue thing said. "It enhanced them. It didn't work."

And that was when Erik realized that the creature standing in front of them was, in fact, Hank McCoy. He couldn't help being in awe. How such a meek, awkward little being as Hank could become this fearsome, admirable thing before him was amazing. He had half a mind to commend the serum.

Raven beat him to the punch, though. "Yes, it did, Hank. Don't you see?" She stepped towards him, and Erik felt oddly like he was intruding on something. "This is who you were meant to be. This is you. No more hiding."

Hank still didn't look sold, though, so Erik clapped him on the shoulder. "You never looked better, man," he said, and the very next instant, he found himself getting a very personal introduction to Hank's newfound strength as his claw closed around his throat.

"Hank!" he heard Charles say, before Hank's snarl drowned it out.

"Don't mock me," Hank growled.

"Hank, put him down immediately please," Charles insisted. Erik rather wished he'd be a little more forceful, what with the lack of oxygen to his brain and all. "Hank! Hank!"

And then Erik hit the floor. As he struggled to get his breath back, he looked up at the massive blue being. "I wasn't," he rasped out.

Cue Alex's two-cents. "Even I gotta admit you look pretty badass. I think I got a new name for ya. Beast."

Erik tried really hard not to be indignant when Hank didn't go for _Alex__'__s_throat.

Luckily, Sean chimed in before tensions could rise any further. "You sure you can fly this thing?" he asked.

"Of course I can," Hank said. "I designed it."

As it turned out, though, "fly" was a very loose term for what Hank was doing with the plane. He supposed technically, Hank was a brilliant pilot, but sitting in the cargo bay, it was _really_ hard to appreciate the merit of his abilities.

"It looks pretty messy out there," he heard Hank say over the comms.

Which was precisely what Erik _didn__'__t_ want to hear.

He and Charles exchanged a glance across the aisle before Charles raised his hand to his temple. Erik wasn't sure when it had happened, but he'd gotten to where he worried every time he saw that gesture. It meant Charles was about to do something that required a lot of concentration, which in turn put a strain on the psychic that would no doubt mount in the coming hours.

Charles was still for a long moment, before he saw the phantom of a flinch pass over him, and he opened his eyes slowly. "The crew of the _Aral__Sea_ are all dead. Shaw's been there."

"He's still here. Somewhere," Erik said. Shaw had to be. He wouldn't leave in his perceived moment of triumph.

"He set the ship on course for the embargo line."

"If that ship crosses the line, our boys are going to blow it up," Moira supplied. "And the war begins."

"Unless they're _not_ our boys," Charles replied. Again, his eyes fell to Erik, and he could see the worry growing in them. Charles knew something, or at least, he was thinking something, and it wasn't good. Before he could ask him what it was, though, Charles returned his hand to his temple and closed his eyes with a deep breath. His brows pulled together, and his jaw clenched. It didn't seem to be a monumental effort for him, but Erik was willing to bet that whatever he was doing was difficult to say the very least.

The very next moment, the plane pitched sideways, and Erik used his control of the metal at various places on his suit to stay _very_ still.

"Hold on!" Charles screamed in the meantime. He didn't have the benefit of electromagnetism, and the ordeal was over far too quickly for Erik to lend him a helping hand. He heard a snarl in his headset, but it was quickly overpowered by the boom of an explosion. The ship headed for the embargo line had been hit.

"A little warning next time, professor?" Hank deadpanned.

Charles, who looked to still be trying to get his stomach back to where it was meant to be in relation to all his other organs, took a deep breath before replying, "Sorry about that. You all right?" The question was directed to all of them, but only Raven and Sean nodded. Alex was still too busy grinning like the thrill-seeking teenager everyone else _wasn__'__t_, and Erik would die before he admitted to the hint of nausea tickling the back of his throat.

"That was inspired, Charles," Moira said.

"Thank you very much, but I still can't locate Shaw," Charles replied. He had his fingers to his temples again, his brows knotted in concentration. Erik couldn't help feeling a little frustrated; aside from Hank, Charles had been the only one doing anything this whole mission. He was _not_ going to let Charles fight this battle singlehandedly.

"He's down there! We need to find him now!" Erik said. Once they found Shaw, Erik could do his part. Until then, strapped up here in this hell on wings, he was practically useless.

Charles glanced up at the front. "Hank?"

"Is there anything unusual on the radar or scanners?"

Moira shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"Well, then he must be underwater. And obviously, we don't have sonar."

Erik sighed. They had to do something. They had to find Shaw and stop this war and just do what the hell it was they were there to do in the first place.

Suddenly, though, Sean leaned back. "Yes, we do," he said.

"Yes," Charles agreed. "We do." Clearly, Charles was already in on the plan, because he took his headset off and started to get up.

Though Erik had no earthly idea what either of them meant – the problem with being close with a psychic was the one often found oneself excluded from a great many conversations – he pulled off his own headset and rose to join Charles and Sean as they made their way towards the back of the jet.

It was a rather interesting going, though, mostly for Sean and Charles. The jet was at an angle, so Charles and Sean were having to cling to the hanging grips to keep from falling against the wall. Even Erik was having trouble staying upright, and he could magnet his feet to the floor.

"Hank! Level the bloody plane!" Charles shouted. In all fairness, though, he was doing exceptionally well. Of all of them, oddly, Charles stumbled the least.

Like he said: grace.

Hank kindly did as he was asked, and Erik was able to regain his balance before either Charles or Sean turned around. As soon as Sean did, though, he held up his hand.

"Whoa!" the young man said. "You back right off."

Memories of his impromptu flying session with Charles and Sean atop the satellite dish brought a grin to Erik's face – he maintained Charles _had_been thinking it – and he held up his hands, taking a couple of obliging steps back.

"Beast, open the bomb bay doors!" Sean called once Erik was a satisfactory distance away. That is, to say, on the opposite side of the doors.

Air rushed upwards as Hank once again did as instructed. Erik stepped to the side to a) avoid the worst of it and b) start to work his way around the bomb opening to the other side. He wasn't going to push the kid; he just wanted to be over next to Charles. "Remember!" Charles shouted, pressing his hand against Sean's neck. "This is a muscle! You control it!" He pointed to his head. "You'll be in here the entire time. We'll see you soon! On my mark!" Charles stepped back. "Three! Two! One! Go!"

Sean let out a whoop and with a single jump, he was gone. Erik felt his chest tighten a little, but it relaxed the moment he heard the Banshee shriek.

After a long moment, Charles straightened, taking his hand from his head. "Banshee has got a location on Shaw," he said, and Erik turned to face him. "You ready for this?"

Ready to take on the man that had killed his mother? Ready to vindicate a life of searching? Ready to put an end to the nightmare that had haunted him since the day he'd failed to move that coin?

"Let's find out."

Climbing onto the landing wheel, he held as the thing descended from the bay of the jet. Instantly, he was buffeted with wind so sharp it seemed to explode in his ears, but he ignored it. With one hand, he held onto the leg of the wheel, and with the other, he reached out into the air, feeling for the signature pull of metal. The bigger it was, the more it was bound to reach his notice, and as he moved his hand slowly, he suddenly felt it in his fingertips as well as his chest.

He grabbed it. With all his might, he seized the metal he knew to be holding his tormentor and he willed it to rise. The strain brought a grunt from his lips, but still nothing. It was too heavy. The weight of the water and the weight of the thing itself combined to make an immovable object the likes of which even his irresistible force could not contend.

But then, a warmth filled his head._Remember,__the__point__between__rage__…__and__serenity._

This time, though, it was not his mother he thought of. It was not birthday candles on a tiny cake or hugs. It was that morning. It was waking up to a splendor so few got to appreciate. It was kissing, touching, holding, the most brilliant creature in all the world's creations. It was any moment he'd ever spent loving, laughing, _being_.

It was every moment he'd ever spent with Charles.

And suddenly, the pain was gone. The agony of the effort faded, and gave way to an easiness that brought a small smile to his face. The strain was still there, but it was so much lighter. _He_ felt so much lighter.

Then he saw it. Breaking the water, back end first…the submarine. He'd done it! He'd really done it! For a moment, it felt like victory.

But then the porthole opened, and Riptide emerged to add a new level of difficulty to his endeavor. The twister was coming, and Erik could only stare at it as it approached.

"Erik!" Charles's voice cut through his momentary lapse. "Take my hand!" As soon as the words left his lips, though, the twister hit, and Erik couldn't move. He was having to fight too hard to hold onto the submarine and the jet simultaneously, his powers divided between two opposing forces.

The moment he saw the coastline, he knew he had to let go. Getting the submarine out of the water had been the goal, and it was accomplished, so now surviving became the precedent.

Desperately, he clung to the wheel mechanism as the wind fought to rip him from it. He needed to get back inside the ship.

When he looked up, he saw Charles leaning out of the bay, reaching for him. "Erik, take my hand!" the younger man shouted. Erik wanted to scream at him, to tell him to get back inside the jet and get buckled in. He knew the jet was going down, and even if he couldn't make it back inside, at least he'd know Charles would be safe.

There was a crash, and suddenly, Erik saw the wing of the jet whip past him. The momentary lapse in his concentration was all the wind needed to tear him from his post, and all he could do was leap for the edge. He was going to miss it. He was going to—

His hand caught something firm, but not as firm as metal, and he looked up to see Charles holding onto him. His face was a mask of effort and agony, and Erik realized with a jolt that this was Charles's bad arm. He quickly worked to pull himself up, using the metal around the bay door to lift himself. He'd only just made it inside, though, when an almost concussive thud told him that they'd hit. Moira screamed, but Erik didn't care about her. Ahead of him, Charles had been scrambling to get back to his seat when the impact smashed him to the ground. Erik saw him sliding, and he lunged forward.

A cry broke from Charles's lips, but before the rolling ship could send him spiraling, Erik caught him, pinning him between his body and the base of the ship. He used his magnetism to cling to the metal ground, and felt Charles's hands close around his wrists. In the cockpit, Hank screamed, and both Erik and Charles's cries joined his.

When the jet finally stopped rolling, they were upside down. Carefully, he eased the connection between his hands and the metal and lowered himself and Charles to the ceiling – now the floor – of the jet. The landing wasn't as hard as it could have been, but effort brought a grunt from his lips. Charles let out a choked sort of groan, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. Erik was afraid, actually, that Charles had been hurt; the fall had been hard, and coupled with his newly-healed injuries, the strain was bound to be a lot worse on him than any of the others.

But then, with a gasp from Moira, Charles was on his feet.

_Thank__you,__my__friend._

Erik nodded and started towards the front of the ship where Raven and Moira were still suspended. Alex had been all too quick to disengage his own belt, even if it meant crashing to his head, and Hank just dandy grabbing onto the controls with his feet and flipping to a softer landing.

"Moira? Moira, are you all right?" Charles asked as he reached her.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Moira said.

Both he and Erik released their respective ladies, and then Charles was making his way to the side of the jet closest to the submarine.

Erik rather wished he'd sit still for a moment.

"I read the teleporter's mind," Charles said as he peered out the opening. "Shaw is drawing all the power out of his sub. He's turning himself into some kind of nuclear bomb."

"We got no time. The Geiger count is going out of control," Moira said.

"All right, Moira, this is what we're gonna do. Get on the radio and tell them to clear both fleets out immediately."

"I'm going in!" Erik shouted.

To Erik's relief, Charles didn't argue. Rather, he said, "Beast, Havok, back him up. Erik, I can guide you thought once you're in, but I need you to shut down whatever it is that's blocking me, then we just hope to God it's not too late for me to stop him."

"Got it." Erik pushed away from his own window and started for the exit made by the crash.

"Good luck!" Charles shouted after him as he, Hank, and Alex made their way outside. They'd only just gotten out when they found themselves staring down Riptide, Angel, and Azazel. Riptide immediately conjured up a twister, but he'd no sooner gotten them twisting than Alex released a blast that sent him sailing back into the submarine.

Erik was so proud.

Figuring that the two of them could take care of themselves against Angel and Azazel, Erik made for the submarine. Though the sand kept giving way beneath his feet, he moved quickly across the distance. Riptide was already up and ready to take him on when he reached it, but Erik dispatched him quickly with a panel of the submarine. Needless to say, he wouldn't be getting back up this time.

Leaping over the piece of metal, he ran through the impromptu door.

_Erik,__make__for__the__middle__of__the__vessel.__That__'__s__the__point__my__mind__can__'__t__penetrate.__We__have__to__assume__that__that__'__s__where__Shaw__is._

_Mind__you__don__'__t__focus__too__much__on__me.__Azazel__and__Angel__are__still__out__there.__Be__careful._

_ Thank you, but Alex and Hank are taking care of it, and Sean has joined them. I've got Moira and Raven in the jet, so don't worry about me. Just keep going. _

The thought assured him somewhat, but it did little to ease the tension in his chest. One way or another, he was about to meet his maker, and it was bound to be one hell of a showdown. He just had to find it first.

_That__'__s__the__nuclear__reactor.__Disable__it._

Erik didn't bother wondering how Charles knew what he was seeing – probably looking through his eyes – and instead just did what Charles told him. Charles would know what he was doing; he was sure of it.

He pulled the lever and opened the door, slipping through the porthole and into a lavishly decorated room.

_Erik,__you__'__re__there.__You__'__ve__reached__the__void._

"He's not here, Charles. Shaw's not here! He's left the sub!" As he spoke, he circled, looking all around the room for any sign of the man he was here to kill. There wasn't a single trace.

Charles wasn't convinced, though, apparently. _What?__He__'__s__got__to__be__there!__He__has__to__be!__There__'__s__nowhere__else__he__can__be.__Keep__looking._

"And I'm telling you he's not. There's no one here, God damn it!"

He'd no sooner spoken the words than he heard something behind him. An eerie sort of blue light fell on the room, and Erik felt his heart stop in his chest as he turned around.

"Erik. What a pleasant surprise."

_Erik?__Erik._

He could feel Charles reaching out for him, but the sensation barely registered. He'd spent his whole life working towards this moment. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking him closer and closer to Shaw with every step.

"So good to see you again," Shaw said as he stepped through the doorway into the room of mirrors that Charles had identified as the void. The moment he was through it, he heard another panel slide down over the entrance, but he didn't care. If he was leaving this fight, it would be dead, or with Shaw's blood on his hands. Still, the sudden absence of that warmth in his mind…it was enough to remind him what he was leaving behind. "May I ask you something? Why are you on their side?" _I__'__m__not_. "Why fight for a doomed race who will hunt us down as soon as they realize their reign is coming to an end?" _I__don__'__t._

And he wasn't, and he didn't. He was on no one's side but his own – _you__'__re__on__Charles__'__s__side_, supplied a treacherously sentimental voice in the back of his head – and he fought for no one but himself – _you__fight__for__Charles,_ it insisted. He tried to force it back, but found he couldn't, because he knew it was true. Charles was as much a part of his motivation now as his past, and it killed him.

But he didn't have Charles in front of him now. Now, it was his past that stared him down – his creator, and not his better half. Now, he _did_ fight for himself, because _he_ was the one that had suffered at the hands of this man. Rather than respond to the questions, though, he did what he'd spent years thinking about doing.

He decked the sadistic bastard in the face.

Whatever it was that sat atop his head cracked against the corner of Erik's fist, but he knew he delivered a heavy blow. It was heavy enough to send Shaw's head lurching sideways, but that didn't last long. Shaw straightened from the blow, his cold, dead eyes staring into Erik's.

"I'm sorry for what happened in the camps," Shaw said. "I truly am."

Erik half expected him to say something else, but instead, Shaw reached out and touched his forehead.

The next thing Erik knew, he was flying backwards into the glass panel behind him. It shattered on impact, and a grunt broke from his lips as he fell and hit the floor.

Through the dull pain of the impact and the surprise, a familiar warmth flashed into his head. _Erik,__whatever__you__'__re__doing,__keep__doing__it!__It__'__s__starting__to__work._

"But everything I did, I did for you," Shaw continued, unaware of the new development. "To unlock your power, to make you embrace it." Another touch, this time to his chin, sent Erik flying across the room into another one of the mirror walls. This one met a similar fate as the one before it, only to a much greater degree.

_It__'__s__working!_

Which, though good to know, was not exactly what he wanted to hear after being used as a battering ram. So far, he was up to fourteen years bad luck by his best guess, but something told him that number was about to go a lot higher.

_I__'__m__starting__to__see__him,__but__I__can__'__t__yet__touch__his__mind._

"You've come a long way from bending gates," Shaw said as Erik pushed himself off the ground. "I'm so proud of you."

Erik wasn't listening, though. In the various mirrors across the room from him, he could see the wall of pipes behind him.

Metal pipes.

It gave him an idea. _Charles,__I__'__m__not__sure__how__your__mind__'__s__eye__works,__but__now__might__be__a__good__time__to__squint._And with the warning fairly delivered, he acted. With all his might, he started ripping pipes and beams and anything else metal he could find from behind the glass walls and bringing them across the room. They put a wall between himself and Shaw, and broke through the walls that seemed to be keeping Charles out.

As it turned out, though, only the latter part of the plan worked. Shaw continued as if there was nothing impeding his progress and, in fact, it didn't seem there was. The metal seemed to bend away from him, and as he walked, he went on, "And you're just starting to scratch the surface. Think how much further we could go…together."

_Erik?__What__'__s__going__on?_

Now wasn't the time, though. He was having to devote all his faculties to pushing at the beam that seemed to be bending in towards him. No matter how much effort he put into it, though, it just kept coming until Shaw put his hand against it and pinned Erik against the wall. The man leaned in close, then, as Erik struggled to breathe for the second time that day.

"I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I never did. I want to help you." And he sounded so sincere, so genuine. Still, the hand on his head seemed to burn Erik where it touched. "This is our time. Our age."

_Erik? Are you all right?_

"We are the future of the human race."

_Erik!_

"You and me, son. This world could be ours."

_Please,__Erik,__answer__me!_

But Erik wasn't listening. All his thoughts, all his attention was focused on the man in front of him and the pain in his chest. The memories of what this man had done to him, of the torture, of the death, of the cruelty… "Everything you did…made me stronger."

_You__were__strong__before__him;__you__'__re__strong__despite__him,__Erik!_

"It made me the weapon I am today."

_You__'__re__not__a__weapon!__Erik,__you__'__re__not__the__monster__you__think__you__are.__Please,__listen__to__me.__I__know__who__you__are!__That__isn__'__t__right!_

"It's the truth. I've known it all along." As he spoke, tears welled in his eyes. He was strong because of this man – strong enough that nothing could touch him. He was a weapon because of this man – not a soul, but a weapon. And he knew now, in the face of his creator, that he was a monster, and that was all he would ever be capable of being: a monster…a murderer. "You are my creator."

And it was time to show this man the monster he was responsible for.

The wire that had crept behind Shaw while the sadist had been gloating, in that instant, closed around the helmet and took it from Shaw's head.

"Now, Charles!" Erik shouted as Shaw turned to grab it. But it was too late; Charles had already taken hold of his mind.

With a burst of will, Erik sent the beam that had been holding him captive clattering to the ground. Slowly, he started to walk around Shaw, gazing at the man that was responsible for his very being. This helmet…it was all it had taken to bring him down, was the removal of this one helmet. And like the crown of an overthrown king, it now fell to Erik.

"Sorry, Charles," he said as he brought the metal helmet down into his outstretched hand.

_Erik,__please!_ The desperation was as evident as the strain. Erik knew that holding onto Shaw was taking a lot out of the psychic. _Be__the__better__man._

But it was too late for that. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said,

_Erik,__there__will__be__no__turning__ba__—_

Nothing. The warmth was suddenly gone from Erik's thoughts, and it was silent.

Good.

He stepped forward, leaning his head against the man's hand. "If you're in there, I'd like you to know that I agree with every word you said. We are the future. But…," he turned away, taking a couple slow steps away, "unfortunately…you killed my mother."

This time, when he turned back to face Shaw, he did it with a coin in his hand. He liked to think, somewhere deep inside that motionless frame that stood before him, Shaw recognized the coin, and knew it with the same _terror_ Erik had felt when he'd first seen it. "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to count to three, and I'm going to move the coin."

He let go of the coin, leaving it suspended in the air. "One."

He willed the coin forward towards Shaw. "Two."

The coin's edge touched Shaw's brow. "Three."

And so, his revenge was carried out. The coin slid through the man's head, emerging on the other side where he allowed it to clatter to the floor, covered in the blood of the man that had spilled that of his mother, and plenty of his own.

If only he'd known then that Shaw wasn't the only one to suffer for his wrath. If only then, he'd heard Charles scream.


	13. Amphere's Law

_Ampère's Law: "magnetic fields can be generated in two ways: by electrical current and by changing electric fields."_

The metal at the side of the ship gave way to Erik's will as he bent it aside. Before him, Shaw hung dead, held up only by his cufflinks and suspenders. "Today," he said as he emerged from the submarine, using the metal on his own uniform to lower himself gradually to the ground while Shaw dropped like a deadweight to the sand beneath, "our fighting stops!" As he felt the sand beneath his feet, he looked around at all the mutants that had gathered. His and Shaw's, all together. All united. "Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters. The real enemy is out there," he said, pointing out to the ships that waited just off the coast. "I feel their guns moving in the water, their metal targeting us." He was walking forward now, towards Charles, and Charles was walking towards him. A few yards away, though, he turned, starting towards the beach. There was something Charles had to see. "Americans, Soviets, humans…united in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!" He glanced over at Charles, who was walking alongside him. "Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong."

And Charles did, raising his temple to his head, and while his mind searched for the truth that Erik already knew, Erik watched him. He looked different than he had when he'd left him. Sweat was gathered on his brow, a grimace twisted on his lips as he concentrated. Perhaps Charles had pushed himself too far, holding onto Shaw as he had.

Slowly, though, Charles lowered his hand from his temple. His breaths came harder, now, moving his chest up and down, and Erik could tell from the look of barely-concealed horror that he knew what it was Erik had wanted him to see.

Charles turned to Moira, and with one short nod of his head, he sent her running to the ship, no doubt in some futile effort to stay the inevitable.

Her efforts were unsuccessful, as Erik knew they would be. He could tell by the look that crossed Charles's face that he knew, and the very next moment, the guns went off. Clouds erupted in the blue sky as dozens of tendrils of smoke jumped up into the blue. When they started their descent, there was no question about it:

The missiles were headed straight for them.

Well, not if he could help it. And help it, he could. With one hand raised to the sky and the forceful exertion of his will, he stopped the missiles dead in their tracks. For the longest moment, there they stayed, all hovering in the air just meters above the ground.

And then he made them turn. Back to their senders, back to _their_creators to destroy just as he had destroyed his.

"Erik, you said yourself, we're the better men," Charles said from beside him. "This is the time to prove it." With each degree he turned the missiles, Charles grew more agitated, until they were pointing directly at the boats. Charles's voice gave away his alarm. "There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men! They're just following orders."

The last words were spoken as a plea, but for their content, they could've been a sob and Erik wouldn't have paid them heed.

He scowled. "I've been at the mercy of men just following orders," he said. When he turned to look at Charles, he found the most horrified, helpless expression resting on that pale face. But he was a monster, a weapon just like those missiles; it was in his nature to destroy, and he could not deny his nature. "Never again."

With a thrust of his hand into the air, he sent the missiles sailing towards the ships.

"Erik, release them!" Charles shouted.

He ignored him.

Then, suddenly, a cry. "No!" Charles shouted, and the very next instant, Erik felt something collide with his hips, tackling him to the ground. Surprise released the missiles from his command, and a few exploded harmlessly, but most simply wavered. Erik could hardly be bothered to pay attention to them, though; Charles was on top of him, scrambling to get his gloved hands on Erik's helmet.

"I don't want to hurt you!" Erik ground out, but then Charles got a little too close to taking his shield, and Erik had to knock him away. "Don't make me!" he snapped, and Charles grunted as Erik's elbow caught him in the side of the face. The younger man fell onto h s back on the sand, his face twisted in pain that didn't really seem to match the injury. Even in the adrenaline of the moment, something in him twisted at the sight. What if Charles was really hurt? What if something had happened?

He went to see if he was okay, but he noticed the others coming up out of the corner of his eyes. "Stand back!" he shouted, and from the metal in the suits, he was able to send them all flying away. He hadn't meant to throw them so far, but this was desperately important.

Charles had used the momentary distraction, though, to resume his efforts. His hands grabbed at Erik's helmet, and Erik tried to hold him down to the ground, straddling his hips and using his greater weight to keep Charles in place. He put his hands on his upper arms, keeping his arms far enough away that he couldn't reach Erik's face, but still Charles's struggled. He was hurting himself; Erik was sure of it now. He was hurting himself for those _damned_ humans that wanted nothing more than to wipe him off the face of the earth.

"Charles, that's enough!" he snapped. Couldn't Charles see that this was for the best? He was doing this for Charles just as much as he was for himself – maybe even more. Charles deserved better than this, better than _them_!

With Charles's hands at bay, he turned his attentions to the missiles. If he could just do this one thing, then it would be over. If he could just wipe these people out, then he could _make_ Charles understand. These people wanted to kill him, and Erik couldn't let that happen!

But Erik forgot to account for one thing in his restraints. Though it wasn't a talent Charles exercised often, he did have a flare for telekinesis. Erik had seen it sometimes when he dreamed or else got incredibly angry – things would shake and quiver; sometimes they'd fly right of the shelf.

He noticed, then, that Charles had stopped fighting against him, and turned to see him with his hand stretched, palm out, towards Erik's helmet. It startled him – both his lapse in judgment and Charles's near victory – and instinct caught on before thought could. With one hand, he pushed Charles's arm to the side, and with the other, he drove a punch into the side of Charles's face that was hard enough to smack his head to the ground.

More missiles exploded with Erik's distraction, but Charles wasn't fighting anymore. The blow had stunned him, and Erik seized the opportunity to regain control over the missiles. He could see to Charles later – one broken nose would be infinitely better than a lifetime of misery at the hands of these humans. Now, it was time to do what needed to be done. Rising, he forced all of his focus into the remaining missiles to send them speeding at the ships. He heard Charles groan behind him, but blocked it out. He was so close…it was almost over. All of this was almost over. Just seconds…closer, closer, like the coin to Shaw's brow.

_Bang_. A gun fired, and had it not been for Erik's helmet, the bullet would've pieced his skull. As it was, he turned to see Moira, her gun raised. Another shot, and another. One after the other, they came at Erik, but he reflected them effortlessly. He just had to wait until she got to the last bullet in her—

A gasp.

Erik's heart stopped dead in his chest as he turned. Charles was falling, his hand clutching the base of his back as he crashed into the sand. The sand that had erupted from his fall barely had time to settle before Erik was by his side, running around him to get behind him. His feet slid, and he fell to his knees behind his fallen lover. With one hand on Charles's shoulder, he pushed his hand away from the wound as he tried with the other to find the source of Charles's pain.

_There_! He felt it, and he beckoned it. Charles's face twisted in agony and he tried to roll over onto his back, presumably to escape Erik's efforts, but Erik had already done what he meant to do. In his hand, a single bullet rested, pulled from the base of Charles's back. All around them, concussive blasts rang out, but next to the figure in his arms, the missiles were of little importance. His earlier mission, in fact, paled to utter insignificance in light of the horror that had just transpired.

Charles cried out in pain as Erik lifted him into his lap, cradling Charles's head in his arm. "I'm so sorry." The words came out in a rush; Erik couldn't believe this was happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't…Charles couldn't….

Moira was running towards him. The children were moving in, too. "I said back off!" he roared, his voice deadly despite the tears running from his eyes.

He could feel Charles's heart beating against the hand he'd laid on his chest, too-fast and thundering. Charles was just as scared as he was – probably more.

His eyes fell on Moira. "You," he ground out. "You did this." It was her bullet, her gun.

_Her__fault_!

He raised his hand, and Moira's dog tags mimicked the knot in Erik's chest, tightening brutally until she couldn't breathe. She'd gotten Charles into this mess. She'd taken him from his schooling and brought him here and gotten him involved in this war that he had no business fighting, and now a bullet from her gun had drawn his blood. She would pay for it. She would die for it!

"Erik." The name came as a cough from Charles's lips. His body convulsed with the effort, the breathless words taking more from him that Erik cared to acknowledge. "Please." But he didn't want to stop. He _couldn__'__t_ stop. "She didn't do this, Erik. You did."

The words hit Erik like a kick to the gut, and he dropped his gaze from Moira to the man bleeding in his arms. Charles's face was pale, now – too pale, but those eyes of his, tear-filled as they were, were sharp as ever.

In truth, Erik would probably still have killed Moira on the spot, but she wasn't important enough. Nothing was more important than Charles.

Charles coughed through grit teeth, a pitiful, agonized sound, but those eyes…they stayed fixed.

"Us turning on each other, it's what they want," he ground out. "I tried to warn you, Charles!" _I__tried__to__protect__you!__Why__didn__'__t__you__let__me__protect__you?_ "I want you by my side," he said, his voice rasped by tears. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose Charles. Nothing mattered if he couldn't have Charles…if he couldn't have this strange, perfect family he and Charles had made. "We're brothers…all of us together, protecting each other. We want the same thing."

A soft, hysterical laugh broke from Charles's red lips, and more tears streamed from Charles's eyes. "Oh, my friend," he said. "I'm sorry, but we do not."

And the look in his eyes…the anger there. The pain…Erik knew it was his fault. He was to blame, and he alone. He would've given the world to take it back, in that moment. He would've given _everything_. But he couldn't.

Moira, for her part, seemed to have taken Charles's dismissal as an invitation. "Charles! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she cried as she ran over, dropping down to her knees opposite Erik.

"It's all right," Charles said, his voice hitched and reedy. "It's all right."

As he spoke, though, there was a change in Charles that Erik began to notice. The sharpness in his eyes started to fade; his pupils started to dilate, and as Erik pressed a hand against his cheek, he found the skin to be cold.

Charles was going into shock.

"Charles," he bit out, interrupting what would have been the fifth rendition of his mantra. Charles didn't even seem to know he was saying it. His eyes were closed tightly now, his face a mask of agony. "Charles, look at me."

"We have to get him to a hospital," Moira said. "Come on, Charles, you have to help us out." And Charles tried. Christ, even bleeding and in agony, the man tried, only to cry out in pain. Moira tried to help him sit up, but Erik stopped her.

"Get back," he ordered. She opened her mouth to protest, but one murderous look, and she seemed to reconsider. She stepped back, and Erik pulled Charles closer to him. "Hank," he shouted, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded desperate. "Hank, come here!"

Hank did as Erik commanded and came running, hurrying to kneel in the spot Moira had just vacated. Charles must've misunderstood his purpose for being there, because he grabbed onto Hank's arm and started trying to pull himself up.

The effort brought a muted scream from his lips, and Erik quickly decided it was a bad idea.

"Wait—don't—" Hank apparently had the same idea, because while Erik pulled Charles's hands away, holding them against his chest in one of his larger hands, Hank eased him back down so that he lay back against Erik's arm. "Charles, don't move, okay?" Hank said.

Charles, for his part, made no move to fight against them. The air left his lungs in a mix between a cough and a groan. "I won't," he said, his eyes closed tightly. His hands now clutched at Erik's, and if the tightness of the grip was any indication of the pain he was in, Erik shuddered to think of what it was he was presently suffering. Charles continued, though, a broken laugh escaping his lips with the breathless words. "I can't—Actually," he let out a breath, "I can't…I—I…I can't feel my legs."

"What?" Moira whispered from behind Hank.

"I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs." With each repetition, Charles seemed to grow more distressed, his grip tightening on Erik's hands. His breathing quickened, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes darted around wildly. Erik wasn't sure if he was hyperventilating or not, but he knew it wasn't good.

"Charles, it's all right," he tried to soothe. He knew it was a lie – even without this new development, Charles had still been shot. The mounting panic in Charles's eyes was enough to make the falsehood worth it, though. "Just breathe, Charles. You're going to be all right."

Charles just got more agitated, though. He wasn't getting through to him, he realized. Charles wasn't listening anymore; his eyes were starting to flicker closed. Either he was fainting, or Erik had been right in his guess of hyperventilation.

He only knew of one surefire way to get into his head, then, and that was to let Charles into his. It was all he could do to get his hand loose from Charles's grasp, and then only because Hank helped. With one hand free, though, he was able to reach up and take the helmet off, letting it fall to the sand somewhere beside him with a hollow thud. With the hindrance gone, he returned his hand, this time to Charles's cheek, letting his bare fingers stroke across Charles's cool cheeks.

_Look__at__me,__Charles__…__open__your__eyes__and__look__at__me._

A soft whimper broke from Charles's throat.

_Agony__…__searing__agony,__but__then__nothingness.__Too__great__a__divide.__Terrified__…__silver__between__his__eyes,__too__slow__to__miss__…__silver__in__his__back,__too__quick__to__avoid.__Everything__was__pain._

Erik knew the flash for what it was. Charles's shields were slipping, and though from the looks of it, no one else had gotten it, he knew Charles was fading. Erik had reached out to him, so it was easiest for him to get caught in it, but it might've only been a matter of time.

"You have to breathe, Charles," he said firmly. He said it aloud because it was the only way he could piece the words together through the cacophony of emotions and thoughts Charles's mind was hurling at him. "You have to calm down. It's going to be okay."

_We__have__to__get__him__to__the__hospital._

_ I can't feel my legs. _

_ I don't want to hurt you! _

_ Erik,__release__them!_

The thoughts came scrambled and impossibly fast, and for a moment, Erik wondered how all that could be going on inside one's person head. But then he remembered, it wasn't just one person's head. It was everyone's head, all broadcasting through one channel. The fact that Charles couldn't sort through them was a show of just how bad things were. He was fading fast.

His eyes had fallen closed again, and though they fluttered open occasionally, Erik knew Charles couldn't hold on for much longer. "Come on, Charles," he said, his voice pitched with desperation that made his hands shake and his stomach toss. "Charles, stay with me!"

_Stay__with__me._

_ Can't…_

_ I said stand back!_

_ Hurts too much. _

_ Don't mock me._

_ Everything hurts. _

_ That was inspired, Charles._

_ Can't hold onto it much longer._

_ This is what we're going to do._

_ Erik, please!_

"Just listen to me, Charles. Listen to my voice."

Hank leaned forward. "What's going on?"

Erik ignored him, clutching Charles to his chest. "It's okay," he told him, pressing a kiss to Charles's head. "We're going to get you to the hospital. You're going to be okay. Just stay with me."

_Stay__with__me._

_ Stay with…me…_

_ Stay…with…_

_ Stay…_

And then it all went quiet, and Charles slumped, limp in his arms. "Charles?" Erik tried, hoisting Charles up a little higher. The younger man's head just lolled against Erik's chest, limp as the rest of him. "Charles? Charles! Damn it, Charles, wake up! Please, you have to wake up!"

No matter how desperately he screamed for it to happen, Charles didn't stir. His mind was quiet, his body was still, and the only thing that told Erik that the love of his life still lived was the slow, unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat against Erik's hand.

"Erik, we need to—"

But Erik already knew what he needed to do. Face set determinedly, despite the tears still streaming down his cheeks, he lifted Charles into his arms and stood. "Azazel!" The red demon cocked his head. "Take us to the hospital. Any one in New York; it doesn't matter." He glanced down at the Charles's limp form, cradled in his arms.

"And do it fast."


	14. Occam's Razor

_Occam's Razor: "simpler explanations are, other things being equal, generally better than more complex ones." _

Five days, it had been. Five days since Charles had fallen on the beach.

Four days since they said Charles would never walk again; Erik told himself it was okay. He'd carry Charles for the rest of his life if it meant staying.

Three days since projected nightmares and a whole hospital full of patients screaming about pains in their backs and heads had forced them to move Charles back to the mansion. Everyone chose not to comment on the peculiar behavior of the odd metal object.

Two days since exhaustion had last tricked him into sleep; it hadn't lasted more than a half hour.

One day since they said Charles should have woken up. Erik told himself doctors didn't know anything.

Four hours since Hank had lowered Charles's morphine dose; the professor really was too thin to be receiving such a high dose.

Two minutes since Erik had stepped into the bathroom to wash his face.

That was when it hit him.

It was faint at first. It was nothing more than a niggling on the edge of his consciousness; he hardly noticed. It wasn't until it roared forward, screeching across the frame of his mind like a train on stilted tracks, that he realized it was even there at all. By then, it had already sent him to his knees, from both the suddenness and the intensity of it.

Because it hurt. No, it didn't hurt. "Hurt" did not go far enough to describe what it was he was feeling. Agony could not measure; torture could not compare. This was insanity.

There were no words, no context for it, but Erik knew exactly what it was.

_Charles!_

Suddenly, no amount of pain could hinder him. It was not his, and it did not impede him. It was in his mind, and it did nothing to stop him as he scrambled to his feet, his dress shoes sliding on the tile of the bathroom as he lunged to his feet.

The carpet offered better resistance as he slid to a halt beside Charles's bed, bracing his hand on the mattress and leaning over so that his eyes could search for any signs of life. The sensation creeping in the back of his head had to come from somewhere, and even though he and God had never really been on speaking terms, he _prayed_ this meant Charles was coming back to him.

At first, though, there was nothing. Charles was still. Swathed beneath the neatly-tucked blankets and throw, he looked so small. Charles had always been small, but pale and still as he was, he looked even more so now. It reminded Erik of the youth he always caught glimpses of behind that too-mature exterior. Charles really was a child forced to age beyond his years. He'd never enjoyed his childhood; now, Erik wondered if he would ever get to enjoy his adulthood.

But then—_yes_! He saw it. Movement. One instant, there was nothing, and the next, those thin, shapely brows pulled down and his eyes squinted and his red lips pulled down. Charles was waking up, and what he was waking up to was not going to be pleasant.

_Stop._

The word bumped against his consciousness, and Erik paused. It was Charles – he knew the voice as well as he knew his own. He knew the warmth, the familiarity, but all of it was cloaked. The comfort Charles's mind so often brought was gone, and in its stead was an oppressive _ache_ that nearly brought Erik to his knees again. Terror. Pain. Confusion. He didn't know what was happening to him.

"It's all right, Charles," Erik said, but it was hardly his most convincing lie. His voice cracked around the words as he slid a hand behind Charles's head, carding his fingers through the disheveled locks. "You're all right."

A stab of pain that wasn't his own. It was different than real pain…like a phantom, but enough to know that it was real enough for someone. For Charles.

That just made it worse.

_Stop!_

It was more desperate this time. Pleading. So much meaning came through the one word; Charles's emotions were eager to provide the clarity that his mind could not. He was scared, torn from the comfort and safety of unconsciousness and brought back to this place where pain engulfed him like a vicious fire. He wanted to go back to the dark. He wanted it to stop hurting.

Erik swallowed deeply, trying to get past the lump that had risen in his throat. "I know." He wanted it to stop hurting, too. But he couldn't do anything about that, and Charles had to wake up. Maybe it was selfish, but Erik needed to see it. He needed to see that the light wasn't gone, that this splendid thing was not destroyed.

That he had not destroyed the one thing he had ever really loved.

"Please, just open your eyes. Just come back to me." His words were strained through his gritted teeth; pain wrenched his heart with sympathy…with guilt. The fingers of one hand furled in Charles's hair while the others caressed his bruised jaw. The deep purple marks had nearly faded everywhere but his nose and eyes; his broken nose had left his eyes swollen and dark.

_Can__'__t__…_

Erik nearly started at this. It was one thing to hear a word repeated; this was a response. This meant Charles could hear him…could feel him. Knew he was there. This meant Charles was aware again.

"Yes, you can," he said, perhaps a little more insistently than he should have. "You brilliant, beautiful thing…just open your eyes!"

_Please__stop__…__don__'__t__make__me__…__hurts__…__make__it__stop._

The words brought pain to Erik's chest. Charles was begging…Charles never begged. This proud creature before him…to be reduced to begging, Erik couldn't begin to imagine what he was suffering.

But he couldn't submit. Charles was waking up; there were no two ways about it. There was nothing Erik could do to postpone it, and nothing he could do to quicken its arrival. So far as he could imagine, the only thing within his grasp was the ability to ease its coming and keep Charles's mind in place as his body wracked him with torments.

"Just listen to me, Charles." _Listen__to__me__…__listen__to__my__voice__…__I__'__ve__got__you,__now.__Just__hold__on__to__me._"It's going to be all right." He didn't know if any of this was getting through to Charles. Tears had started to weep down Charles's cheeks, streaming down the sides of his face in lonely droplets. His breathing had quickened, his chest rising and falling beneath the blankets.

_I__can__'__t__…__Erik?_

"I'm here, Charles. I'm not going to leave." _Not__again.__Never__again._ "I just need you to open your eyes."

_Erik?__It__hurts._A soft sob – the first audible sound – sounded behind Charles's sealed lips. _Can__'__t__do__it__…__hurts__too__much__…__can__'__t__do__it__…_ "Erik."

For a moment, it didn't register, but then—Charles had spoken. His lips had moved; his voice, quiet and strained, had formed around a word.

The realization brought a sort of hysterical smile to Erik's face. At the same time, tears had started to rise in his eyes and slip down his cheeks. "You can," he said, stroking his thumb along the ridge of Charles's high cheekbone. He leaned down to press a kiss to each of Charles's bruise-rimmed eyes.

In the wake of one of those kisses...there it was. A sliver of blue. Then another. More tears sprang up, but he'd done it. Charles was awake.

And then he was screaming.

Agony, fierce and unrelenting, suddenly slammed into Erik's mind. All fogginess that had surrounded Charles's awareness in a sort of blanket was gone, leaving him with sharp fragments that raked across his consciousness like glass. The worst was knowing that this…this was only a part of what Charles was feeling.

Those blue eyes were closed again, and Charles was trying to turn, but his body wouldn't comply. His hands twisted in the blankets, his shoulders arched, his jaws clenched, but everything from his torso down was still.

"Charles!" Erik tried shouting over the cries, taking Charles's head between his two hands. He didn't need to be moving and Erik needed to get his attention before something worse happened. "Charles, you have to be still. I know it hurts; I know you're scared, but you have to be still." He felt like he was talking to a frightened child. In a way, he supposed he sort of was. In this moment, Charles lacked the comprehension to understand logic; all he knew was that he was in unbearable agony, and he knew of no way to escape it.

The screams faded right around the time the door burst open. The noise must have woken the children, because Alex came running in, followed by Hank and Sean hot on his heels.

Alex and Sean immediately rushed forward, each grabbing hold of one of Charles's hands. They knew what to do without behind told; Erik appreciated them for that. Hank, unlike the other two, however, turned on his heel and started back out the door.

"I'll be right back!" he called over his shoulder, and Erik could only hope he'd "be back" with something that would help Charles.

Wisely, neither Alex nor Sean – the latter was more surprising – spoke. This, after all, was not a time for words. Erik wasn't sure he would've had the fortitude to answer them even if they had asked, no matter the question. Charles was getting his full attention; all his thoughts were devoted to trying desperately to break through the mad haze of pain that had sealed Charles deep into his frenzy.

"Give me some room," Hank ordered as he came running back in, and Sean stepped to the side to give him access to the arm that held the IV. Sean didn't let go – both Hank's hands were too full to hold the arm and administer the syringe of some medication he had brought with him on his return.

"Hang on, Charles. This'll help, okay?" Hank told him as he finished releasing the liquid into the line to Charles's veins. Glancing up at Erik, he added, "It's morphine. It's still not the same dose he was getting, but it should help."

Erik nodded. Help. That was good. So was morphine. Hell, he'd have gone for pink elephants and pom poms if he'd thought that would do Charles some good.

Morphine probably made a lot more sense.

Sure enough, too, it started to do the trick. Charles's struggles started to wane, and his desperate, wordless pleas became nothing more than soft groans and eventually mere breaths of whimpers. That was about when Sean and Alex thought it would be okay to let go of their hold on the professor, and they all backed away.

"Go back to your rooms," Erik instructed firmly. He had managed to regain a little bit of his control of the situation, now that his mind wasn't being bombarded so thoroughly. "Hank, in case he wakes up again—."

Hank nodded. "I'll be ready. Just give me a shout; I'll hear."

With that, the three teens made their way out of the room. Erik told himself that was good because Charles needed as few inputs as possible. But then, he knew he was also being selfish. He wanted to be alone with Charles, to comfort him, to make up for his mistakes. Not that he could ever make up for this. But he'd meant what he said: he wasn't going to leave again.

As the three left, though, Erik caught something out of the corner of his eye that made him reconsider. Blue…gold eyes, filled with upset. Raven was standing in the doorway as the three boys brushed by.

"Raven?"

The voice wasn't Erik's, and he looked down to find Charles's eyes, bleary and unfocused as they were, directed towards the door. He couldn't very well sit up, so Erik knew he couldn't see her, but he was trying so hard. He must have sensed her, at the very least.

Erik was just about to call her in – she'd been worried about her brother; he thought she would be pleased to see him awake, now that he wasn't incoherent and screaming. Just as he started to rise, though, she turned and disappeared down the hall.

The change in Charles was almost automatic; he seemed to deflate. He might not have seen her go, but he'd sensed it, and his drug-muddled mind couldn't seem to make sense of it. His brows knotted. "Gone, hasn't she?" he muttered, his voice lilted from the effects of the medication and his general daze. That morphine might not have been too much, but added to the rest of the dose he was getting, it seemed enough to put him out of sorts.

Erik frowned. "She's a girl; she's just upset." It wasn't really in his spirit to be understanding, but since Charles didn't seem quite able to come to her defense, Erik thought it might be his turn to step up. The last thing Charles needed was to be upset about his sister. He had enough things to worry about. "Give her some time…I'm sure she was frightened."

Charles blinked a few times, freeing a few more salty drops to run down his cheeks, but he eventually gave a nod. As close to one as he could manage, at least.

"And you?" he whispered.

Raising an eyebrow, Erik pulled the chair up behind him so that he could sit. It made it much easier to level himself with Charles, and he rested his hand back in Charles's hair. "And I what?" he asked.

Charles took a breath; he seemed to be having trouble getting the words to come. His mouth would open for a moment, and then close again. He looked frustrated. "You'll go too," he managed finally.

Erik wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. Either way, he sighed. "No," he said firmly. "I won't." _I__already__told__you__…__I__'__m__never__leaving__you__again._

Normally, it would have pushed Erik's patience to the breaking point, watching Charles trying to decipher the meaning of his words. But then, it was Charles; Erik would give him all the time in the world.

"All right…it's all right," he said slowly. His eyes had slid closed, now, and his head had fallen back into Erik's hand as he continued to brush his thumb along the nape of Charles's neck. "You can…I understand."

It took a moment, but Erik realized what he was saying. He was…giving him _permission_. He was telling him he could go, that it would be all right.

He thought that was what Erik _wanted_.

Something rose in Erik at the thought – an unpleasant sort of fire in his chest, a disgust, not at Charles, but at himself. He really was a monster, then. He set his jaw firmly. "No, I can't," he said. "I can't, and it's not all right, and _you_, Charles Xavier, do _not_ understand. I'm not going anywhere. I haven't all this time you've been out, and I most certainly won't now."

"Why?" It was the quickest response Charles had managed, and it carried with it the most emotion. Confusion, fear, hurt, regret, and, most of all, _hope_.

"Because this is my fault." Charles opened his mouth to protest, but wasn't quite quick enough to the punch. Erik smiled, and, small and bittersweet as it was, it actually managed to reach his eyes. Slipping his free hand in Charles's smaller one, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a single kiss to his hand. "And because I love you."

Charles managed to open his eyes at that, peering with dazed, but somehow incredibly piercing, eyes up at Erik. He swallowed, and Erik watched his throat bob with the action. "Is that…" But then, he just smiled as well. Through the pain and the tears and the _misery_, Charles smiled, and Erik knew in that instant he'd said the right thing.

As Charles surrendered to the medicine's suggestions of sleep, Erik couldn't help thinking that there were a lot more reasons for him to stay. Because he felt guilty…because he wanted to help…because he'd never been happy like this before. But love just seemed so much purer…truer…simpler.

Pressing one last kiss to Charles's brow, Erik sat back in his chair to resume his vigil. Love, he decided, was the simplest explanation for his devotion. "And the simplest explanation is often the right one."


End file.
